


Thanks for Pudding up with Me

by MooeyDooey



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - kitchen edition, Drinking, Edward Sailormouth Kaspbrak has the mouth of a sailor, Eventual Smut, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Gourmet AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Service Top Richie Tozier, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, There is no homophobic clown here he is not welcome in my house, all 40 but didn't meet as childhood friends, background Benverly and stanpat and a smidge of hanbrough as a treat, no beta i wouldnt dare put my friends through reviewing this madness, slight mentions of abusive parents / partners, slow/medium burn, so many references to food based youtube channels and food network shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 99,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22906930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooeyDooey/pseuds/MooeyDooey
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak was once one of the most influential professional chefs in New York. After an unfortunate incident in his kitchen, he loses his job and most of his earnings. Down on his luck, with no where else to go, he accepts a job offer with the ragtag 'Prospect Test Kitchen' in Boston.What starts as a small passion project, making cooking tutorials online, becomes a lot more complicated and bigger than they could ever imagine when Bill brings in a new addition to their team. A comedian with a shocking background and surprise talent for culinary arts: Richie Tozier.Eddie's the only one who doesn't like the new recruit, but Bill bribes Eddie into giving Richie a chance. At the end of six months, Richie's contract will expire. Eddie will get to decide whether they offer him a contract renewal, or refuse to re-hire him.Things are heating up in the Prospect street Test Kitchen! Will Eddie stick to his guns, and keep his dignity? Or will he get lost in the sauce?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 188
Kudos: 588





	1. Amuse-Bouche

**Author's Note:**

> IM OFFICIALLY IN REDDIE HELL HERE WE GOOOO. 
> 
> So this is my silly cooking-AU. The "Prospect Test Kitchen" is based very very strongly on the Bon Appetit channel on youtube, in terms of backstory and how the company operates, as well as some of the videos the losers film together in this fic. There's vague allusions that will be hidden all throughout the fic that tie in shows like kitchen nightmares, the great british bake off, cake boss, various food network shows, etc. But Bon Appetit probably has the strongest influence in the fic. You don't need to know anything about Bon appetit to enjoy the fic, but any fans of it WILL know what I'm drawing from and where. My dark food youtube secrets. 
> 
> Richie and Eddie are starting off on a VERY loud and obnoxious foot here but I promise Eddie'll start calming down (a bit) as soon as chapter two hits and Richie will get (a bit) less mean. This is just them at their absolute MOST. 
> 
> Other chapters after this will also be shorter! Just had to pump out the full intro all in one go here. 
> 
> I'm not quite sure what the update schedule will be! Probably will be a chapter every few days, but chapters could take up to a week depending on how busy my schedule gets. I'll try to keep up and not delay things too long tho!
> 
> Important note about reading through the "stage directions" for the video segments of this fic!   
> [HARD CUT]: refers to a deliberate edit made to the video, where film was cut out of the final video.   
> [FAST FORWARD]: refers to there being more actual content in the video, that was cut out of the fanfic because it isn't relevant to the plot

_“Tell me you did not just_ **_spit_ ** _in my fucking kitchen.”_

_“What? I did it into the trash can, back off.”_

_New York city. 2011. La MaÎtrise, one of the most renowned 5-star restaurants in Midtown Manhattan._

_“Back-... back off? You want me to ‘back off’, when you’re hawking up phlegm directly next to a $200 filet mignon?”_

_“You won’t let anyone go outside to do it, where the hell else am I supposed to-”_

_Two men are faced off in the middle of a bustling kitchen. One of these men is the Head Chef of the restaurant, known around the world for his meticulous attention to detail and explosive temper. The other man is a Tournant, a swing chef, filling in for the Saucier on her day off._

_“Swallow it! It came out of your body, it can stay in there until the end of your shift! If I see you doing that shit anywhere near my food again, you’re out. For good. One final paycheck, no future references, I make sure you never work in this goddamn city ever aga-”_

_“You know what? Fuck this! Keep your shit references, I’m out!”_

_The younger man all but tears his apron off of his body and throws it directly at the Head Chef’s chest along with his hat, before he continues his outburst._

_“It’s not worth it. This place is a fucking nightmare! Nothing is ever good enough for you! That’s not my fucking fault! Then you treat everyone like an idiot for not living up to your ridiculous expectations-”_

_“My ‘ridiculous expectations’ are the reason why this kitchen is going to earn 3 Michelin fucking stars this year!”_

_The Head Chef is holding a metallic spatula in one of his hands. It’s shaking, ever so slightly, vibrating with the increasing flare of his irritation._

_“Yeah? Well you can take those stars and shove them up your ass, ‘Chef Kaspbrak’. You’re not god’s gift to man, you’re a fucking neurotic_ **_psychopath_ ** _.”_

_The ex-Tournant turns his back to the other man, starting to storm out of the room._

_Chef Kaspbrak’s staff are too well trained to stop what they’re doing, but they’re all listening. None of them offer words of support. Some try to hide their mirthful smiles. Some don’t._

_“Send my last check in the mail, I’m not coming in for it. Or don’t! See if I care! Keep the money and use it on a dildo big enough to dislodge the stick from your a-”_

_The hand that Chef Kaspbrak was holding onto the spatula with raises, snapping back behind his head, before pelting the cooking utensil across the room._

\- - - - - - - 

All of that was 5 years ago. The day Eddie Kaspbrak’s world came crashing down around him. 

He had always been a hard-working person. Studious, careful, organized. Regimented.

He knew from a very young age that if he wanted to make anything of himself, if he wanted the comfortable security of a well-paying job and a thoroughly cushioned saving account, he had to claw his way to it. Because he was born into a household on the brink between middle class and poverty. 

For as long as he could remember, his mother had not been able to work. She had joint problems, and Chronic Bronchitis. Their only source of income was the inheritance left by his father’s life insurance when he died, and whatever little they gained from his mother’s disability checks. Most of that money went towards medical treatments for both Eddie and his mother, funding their constant battle against their own mortality. 

Eddie was a sickly child, constantly in and out of the hospital, but still managed to do all of the physical work that his mother couldn’t. Bending over put her at risk of throwing out her back, so Eddie picked up everything around the house that wasn’t within reach of his mother’s spot on the couch. The washer and dryer were also too low to the ground to be easily accessible, so Eddie learned how to do the laundry. 

Most importantly, Eddie learned how to cook. Clean, healthy meals. 

Mrs. Kaspbrak had hated it at first. She hated the idea of Eddie using sharp knives, and had screamed the first time he burnt his hand on the hot stove. 

She had sat in the kitchen with him for the first couple of years of his independent studies, rattling off constant reminders for him to be more careful, to not hold the knives so close to his face, to lean further away from the oven so the fumes didn’t get stuck in his lungs and give him carbon monoxide poisoning, but eventually the trip between her couch and the kitchen became too labor intensive. She started leaving him on his own, only seeing him again when he emerged from the kitchen back into the living room holding two plates of dinner for the both of them to eat in front of the tv. 

Sonia Kaspbrak did not have many kind words to say about the food itself. Sometimes she said nothing, too absorbed in what was happening on the screen in front of them to comment on the meal. When she did speak about Eddie’s cooking, it was often to point out how there weren’t enough vegetables on Eddie’s plate. Or how the chicken wasn’t cooked enough, and he was going to get a salmonella infection. 

More often than not, she added extra toppings onto her portions that Eddie wasn’t allowed to eat. She could add extra cheese to her potatoes, but Eddie’s sensitivity to lactose wouldn’t allow for the extra dairy. She could cover her broccoli with salt, but steered Eddie away from doing the same so he wouldn’t raise his blood pressure. No matter what he made, she modified it, and Eddie was not allowed to do the same. Stuck with whatever final creation he presented to her. 

But any time he was about to cry, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, she’d offer up one kind thought towards him. 

“My Eddie-bear is such a good boy. I bet no other little boys cook for their mothers like this. We take such good care of each other, don’t we?” 

So Eddie continued to learn anything he could about cooking. His school had no culinary programs, but his superior grades in every other academic topic were enough to earn him a scholarship to an interdisciplinary college with a fantastic culinary degree. 

He had to delay his admission to said college for a year, until he saved up enough working in his home town to afford a home-care nurse for his mother while he was gone. 

She still accused him of abandoning her when he left for college. The only thing that stopped the guilt from eating him alive was the knowledge that if he focused on his studies, he could eventually get a job well-paying enough to afford a live-in nurse for his mother. 

Fresh out of his home town, Eddie had a plan. He had a dream. First was finishing up his degree at college, which would earn him the credentials to quality for admission into a specialized culinary school. After culinary school, he wanted to move to France, to study with master chefs. 

He made it as far as The Culinary Institute of America, before he met Myra. 

Myra had been introduced to him by another student, who insisted that she was the only one as obsessed over nutritional information as Eddie was. 

Every time the two of them went out to dinner together, they each had a list of very specific instructions to give to the waiter who served them. She was the first woman who ever wanted to see him for a second date after going out to dinner with him. So when she texted him, informing him that she was free the following Friday evening and wanted to have dinner together again, he had agreed. 

They went out for dinner together every Friday night after that, like clockwork, until she told him to change his relationship status on his public accounts from single to ‘in a relationship’. He had agreed. 

They had dated for two years by the time Eddie finished culinary school. He wanted to move with her to France, but she said the idea of moving so far away from home where she didn’t speak the language scared her. He had agreed. 

So he stayed in America, and studied under French chefs who worked in the states. 

He climbed, and clawed, and worked his ass off until he gained a reputation for himself. 

After 6 years, he claimed the pretentious job of Sous-Chef at La MaÎtrise. 

By this point, Myra and Eddie had already mapped out their future together. They had previously agreed that they should get married after Eddie secured a stable job, so he proposed the week after he was hired. 

Next on the schedule was getting married a year after the proposal. They decided if they had children to have them before Myra turned 35, because after that the risk of chromosome disorders was too high. If they didn’t have children they would save the extra money so they could retire by 50, and buy a house down in Florida. In one of those gated communities, where wildlife can’t sneak into. 

2 years after his marriage the Head Chef retired, and he was promoted. 

He had been Head Chef for 3 years when _the incident_ happened.

He had turned the restaurant from a 4-star adequacy to a 5-star luxury destination. His face had been on magazine covers. He had been interviewed, praised, idolized by the culinary world. 

He had it all, then subsequently lost it the moment that spatula flew out of his hand and hit his ex-employee in the back of the head. 

He hadn’t meant to throw it that hard, but the resulting injury still required stitches. 

The Tournant had pressed charges, and the case was settled financially before it actually went to court. On top of the settlement, Eddie was immediately terminated. 

The resulting meltdown that Myra went through was catastrophic. She cried for days on end, unrelenting, constantly asking Eddie what they were going to do. How were they going to keep paying the rent? Would she have to get a job? What about their health insurance? 

Eddie tried to convince her it was fine. They had plenty of savings in their savings account, it could tide them over until he found another job. She wouldn’t have to go back to work. They could afford to buy their own health insurance until he was hired again. 

The problem was, no one in New York City would hire him. No one outside of New York City would hire him. No one in _fucking_ Long Island would hire him. 

Every email he sent went unanswered. Every text he sent was left on read, or never opened. 

A quarter of a year after Eddie lost his job, he was desperate. Desperate enough to open an email from a company he had never reached out to, located nowhere near New York City. 

The message came from a man called Bill Denbrough, and its contents were a job offer. 

Bill was the manager of a test kitchen located near Boston, called the “Prospect Test Kitchen”. They worked with a few local companies and restaurants in the area, with one or two major companies occasionally hiring their services. They developed new menu items, improved existing food options, typical research and development. 

Apparently they had recently started on a new venture: online video tutorials. They made instructional videos to teach people how to improve their cooking, uploaded it online, and split whatever they gained from ad revenue between anyone involved in the making of the video. 

Bill offered Eddie a job working in the test kitchen, with the option to be involved with making video tutorials if he wanted. 

Half a year before that message, Eddie would have laughed at this job offer. It was ludicrous. He was horrendously over-qualified to be working in a test kitchen, and the ad revenue from any video with under 1 million views wasn’t even enough afford rent before splitting it between people. Eddie strongly considered going to the company headquarters in person just so he could tell Bill to fuck off. 

But the test kitchen part of the job paid well enough to tide him and Myra over, until he could find a real job. He had no interest in the videos, but that was not a compulsory part of the contract. 

Eddie lasted one more stubborn week, trying to reach out to 5-star restaurants in other parts of the country. After a particularly scathing rejection letter from a 4-star kitchen in California, he replied to Bill’s email. 

\- - - - - - - 

Eddie had never viewed himself as an adequate ‘on-screen’ presence. He had gone through two interviews on camera before, and each time had been disastrous. 

For one, both interviews had been on ‘family-friendly’ programs. Eddie could be professional when he needed to be, but his chronic ‘sailor’s mouth’ still let a few errant f-bombs slip through his defenses, resulting in the need to cut and re-shoot the response. Pair that with being a nervous sweater, and his constant need to use his inhaler in the middle of a take, and the result was a very short-lived television career. 

He had been perfectly content to stay under the radar. And he had, for close to half a year after he started working for the Prospect Test Kitchen. He might have stayed that way, if it hadn’t been for the powerful charismatic pull of the new Head Chef he worked under. 

Her name was Beverly Marsh. She was as stern and commanding as an executive chef needed to be to maintain order, but kind and soothing in a way he had never seen from an authoritative figure in his many years of working in professional kitchens. 

She never had to raise her voice to get a full room’s attention. Only clear her throat, hands placed firmly on her hips, and the eyes of everyone within a 5 mile radius would turn their heads and hang off of every word she said. 

She was the driving force behind the videos. 

Eddie learned after a few weeks working that she was the driving force behind a lot of things within the company. Her and Bill had started the test kitchen on their own, 5 years before they began filming anything. They had been childhood friends, though they had gone their separate ways after high school, until Beverly reached out to Bill looking for business advice about opening up her own kitchen. 

Eddie had no idea what she did before she opened up the Prospect Test Kitchen. Beverly was very private about her past, and Eddie respected her enough not to pry any information out of her. 

Bill, ever the knight in shining armor, agreed to leave his job so he could partner with Beverly to open up their own business together. Bill took care of the numbers, and Beverly took care of the talent. 

A few years in, once their kitchen was established as a legitimate business, Beverly had the idea of filming and releasing cooking tutorials online. 

The two of them sent out a recruitment ad for a video editor, and found Mike Hanlon. The three of them cliqued right away, and thus Mike was added to the core managerial staff of their team. 

None of them ever pressured Eddie into doing videos. They offered from time to time, Eddie would politely decline, and they would all leave it at that. 

Eddie came in, did his daily work, and left at the end of the day. Easy. Straightforward. Safe. 

But then Eddie started watching Beverly’s tutorials in his free time. He didn’t need the information from them, of course. Most of the recipes that Bev covered were ones that Eddie knew by heart. 

Her videos were not incredibly popular. They pulled in a few thousand views, with the top ones getting up to a hundred thousand. Despite this, Beverly put her all into every video. She went on the channel account to answer comments and questions about her ingredients and her methods. 

Beverly treated the channel like she treated the food she made. It was art. Carefully cultivated, finely crafted. On the days where one of her videos did very well, she came into the room and she _shone_. She blazed with passionate excitement, filling everyone else’s day with her warming joy. 

So finally, one day, when Bev asked Eddie if he wanted to film a video with her, he agreed. Not to be on camera, not fully, but allowed Bill to film his hands going through the proper motions of preparing the food while Bev voiced over the steps of the process. 

The next video that was scheduled came on a day where Bev was too sick to come in, so Eddie filmed the steps, and provided the voice over. 

Thus was how Eddie became the second official cast member of the Prospect Test Kitchen channel. Never referred to by name, to avoid the ‘internet trolls’ from dredging up his recent misdemeanors, but still involved nonetheless. 

\- - - - - - - - - 

One and a half years into starting his position with the Prospect Test Kitchen, and Eddie was finally starting to find a semblance of peace in his life again. 

Sure, the apartment where he and his wife lived in Boston was too small for the two of them. Much smaller than they had stayed in New York City. Myra obviously resented him for making them move away, but she still doted on him, called and texted him multiple times a day to make sure he remembered to take his medication with lunch, reminded him of doctors appointments, and kept him in line. 

Their video tutorials had gained a small amount of traction, before leveling off at a plateau of about a hundred thousand views per video. The money wasn’t great, but the small amount of extra income helped pay off part of the rent for the apartment in New York that Myra forced Eddie to renew the lease on (just in case they ever wanted to go back). 

Eddie had lost most of their savings, but they had stopped plummeting towards debt. Not earning extra money, but not losing it either. 

He wasn’t happy. But he wasn’t despondent. He wasn’t rich, but he wasn’t impoverished. 

He existed. He worked. He commuted, and he survived. 

Just when he had reached a comfortable equilibrium, Bill made the announcement that would throw everything in his life into chaos all over again. 

It had been a quiet day at the kitchen when Bill wrangled Eddie, Beverly, and Mike together for a private meeting in his office. He had an ecstatic smile plastered onto his face, but refused to even hint at the topic of the meeting until everyone was in the room and the door was closed. 

“You will never believe who I just got off the phone with,” Bill said as soon as everyone was settled, sitting behind his desk and furiously typing on his laptop, privately pulling up some sort of information to share with the rest of the group. 

“Was it Hershey’s again?” Beverly asked, lounging in another chair in the room. “I know they offered us a lot last time, and you have faith in us... but I don’t think any of us can salvage their idea for ‘Root-beer chocolate’.” 

Bill shook his head, eyes still laser focused on his screen. 

“No, no it’s not that. Even better. Do you remember when I told you I was trying to find new chefs to add to our videos?” 

“Sure do,” Mike said, sitting on the edge of Bill’s desk. “Something about diversifying our content. You found someone?” 

“Not just one someone. Two of them,” Bill said, turning his laptop around to show the screen to the rest of them. 

The picture on the screen was from some health and wellness magazine. It was an (incredibly unfairly attractive) chef, smiling charmingly in front of a large array of fresh vegetables and ingredients. 

Mike whistled. Bev’s eyebrows raised a bit, leaning forward in her seat to get a better look at the screen. 

“So we’re, what. Hiring a professional model? To pose next to the completed dishes, Vanna White style?” Eddie asked. 

“I swear I’ve… seen him somewhere before,” Bev mused, getting lost in her own thoughts. 

Bill laughed, reaching around the laptop screen to switch to another article and image. 

“He’s not a model. His name’s Ben Hanscom, culinary nutritionist from Chicago. I almost thought we weren’t going to get a response from him, he’s notorious for shying away from on-screen work. But! Apparently our audience is small enough for him to consider working with,” Bill said. 

“I thought this was about diversifying the channel? I already do nutritional videos, we have that covered,” Eddie argued. 

Bill, Mike, and Beverly exchanged an uncomfortable look. 

“What?!” Eddie exclaimed, clearly ruffled by not being in on whatever psychic message the rest of the group refused to share with him. 

Something told Bill that saying _‘Well, Eddie, sometimes you’re a bit overzealous about dietary restrictions, and we can’t keep editing out the sections where you try to describe our audiences' cholesterol-based deaths in graphic detail_ ’ wasn’t going to fly well. So he cleared his throat, and changed strategies. 

“T-that’s not your specialty though. Your specialty is gourmet food and French cuisine. If we had someone else covering nutrition and wellness, you could… focus more on your expertise?” he tried. 

Eddie’s scowl stayed on his face, arms crossed tightly over his chest, but he offered up a relenting shrug. 

“... I guess. But if we go through with this, I’m double-checking all of his research. I’m not about to let some new-age hack run our channel into the ground with his Atkins-Keto Bullshit.” 

Mike rolled his eyes to himself, before turning back to Bill. 

“Sounds like a great addition to the team. Great work, man. But _something_ tells me that’s not the big news of the day. What’s behind door number two?” he asked. 

The excited grin was back on Bill’s face, turning his laptop around again to pull up another window. Once he found what he was looking for he waited a moment, for dramatic tension, before unveiling his achievement. 

“Richie. Fucking. Tozier.” 

Mike gave an impressed sounding hum, nodding to indicate that he approved of Bill’s accomplishment. 

Beverly and Eddie answered at the same time. 

“The comedian?” 

“Who the fuck is that?” 

Bill snapped in Beverly’s direction, his grin widening at her recognition. 

“The comedian. An actual television personality! And he’s actually considering collaborating with us!” Bill explained, excitement building by the second. 

Mike warily rubbed the back of his neck before speaking. 

“Bill… I’m not trying to knock you down a peg. The fact you got in touch with Richie Tozier is incredible, but-” 

“We do a cooking show. How the hell are we going to incorporate a comedian into that, huh? Have him fling creampies in people’s faces?” Eddie cut in before Mike could finish his thought. 

“Oh my god. Eddie, sweetie, you need to slow down when you talk about cream pies,” Bev said, lifting one of her hands and rubbing around her mouth to try to hide the smile threatening to break through her features. “You’re starting to sound like one of Richie Tozier’s stand up routines.” 

“What? What’s wrong with the way I say cream pie?” Eddie asked. 

“Oh, I see it now. Yeah, it was fine that time because you slowed down. Normally you talk so fast it all comes out as one word,” Mike observed. 

Bill gave a nod and a hum of agreement, doing a much less effective job at hiding his amusement. 

“Fuck you! There was nothing different between the first and second time I said creampies!” Eddie said indignantly, his voice starting to raise in volume. 

“See? You just did it again. Creampies,” Mike said. His shoulders shook from the tension of trying to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface, and Beverly snorted into her hand. 

“Guys, focus, come on,” Bill said, mentally saving this information to be openly discussed at a later date when they could properly poke at Eddie’s buttons. He went back to his laptop, opening up another page. A video, with audio playing on its lowest volume. 

“The thing is, he _can_ actually cook. He was on season four of ‘Kitchen of the Stars’. All the judges are actual renowned chefs from around the world! We’re talking Gordon Ramsey, Thomas Keller, _big_ names. I mean, sure, the whole show is for charity. But the dishes are judged seriously. And, get this. Out of six contestants, Richie actually made it to the final two,” Bill explained. 

“Yeah, then he lost. Big whoop,” Eddie replied sardonically. 

Bill paused, the smile faltering off of his face for a moment. 

“Well. He-... he didn’t lose. He uh. Walked out,” Bill said. 

“Why?” Mike asked. 

“Well, at the end of the last episode they got Richie back on screen for an ‘exit interview’. He said he came down with something the morning of the final challenge, and that it didn’t hit him until halfway through filming. He was pretty vague about it, but he probably wasn’t thinking straight if he was still sick,” said Bill. 

Richie was on screen now. The episode was clearly from the middle of the season, because the man was thriving, clearly in his element during the segment that played. He was multi-tasking between plating some arugula for presentation and searing a salmon fillet in a large pan. 

Eddie saw the same look on concentration on Richie’s face that he had seen from the most talented members of the kitchen staff he used to lead. But on top of that concentration was a wild smile. A passion that never had room to thrive in the high-stakes environment of a 5 star restaurant. 

No one seemed to notice Eddie’s mental tangent. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I haven’t heard a lot about him, but I know he has a reputation for being… flighty,” Bev said, trying her hardest to put it into kind words. 

Bill let out a sigh. 

“I know. But I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason why he’s even considering our offer right now,” said Bill. 

“No one else wants to work with him,” Eddie added, uncharacteristically soft toned. 

“To put it lightly, Yeah,” Bill added. 

“So. What now? We draft a proposal for a contract and send it to his agent?” Eddie asked. 

Bill’s eyebrows shot up, a bit taken aback by Eddie’s sudden approval for Bill’s plan. He knew better than to question it though, didn’t want to risk Eddie changing his mind, so he moved onward. 

“Not yet. We both agreed it would be a good idea for him to come visit the kitchen before we start negotiating anything. He’ll be flying into Logan Airport next Wednesday. We’ll give him a tour and introduce him to everyone. He won’t be working in the actual test kitchen, just for videos, so if he wants to join he’ll fly to Boston and stay for a few days any time we have an episode lined up for him,” said Bill. 

“What about Ben?” Beverly asked, pausing for a moment after she realized how quickly that question had come out. “I mean. Will he be in the test kitchen? I’ll need to set up some space for him to work. If he’s coming. When is he coming?” 

“... oh. Well, uh. Yeah, he’s already on board. He’s going on the standard contract, for both the test kitchen and video channel. He’s moving into the city, so it’ll be a few weeks before he can start, but he said he’ll fly over to visit and meet everyone some time next week,” Bill said. He tried to not sound vaguely disappointed at Bev’s immediate interest in their new co-worker, with a minuscule amount of success. 

Mike sent a knowing side-glance at Bill, but said nothing. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Of the two new-comers, Ben had been the first to visit. Bright and early on Monday morning, two days before the arrival of Richie Tozier. 

If the man they had all seen in the magazine articles had looked like a model, the man in person was akin to a Greek God. 

It wasn’t just about the way he looked. He was obviously attractive, cut and chiseled at every angle pleasing to common human standards of beauty. His physical appearance was simply a red carpet, leading you up to the main attraction. His personality. 

Bill Hanscom was the nicest person any of the Prospect Test Kitchen staff had ever met. 

Upon first meeting everyone, he gave them a firm and warm handshake. He had an easy going smile, with just enough nervous energy to let you know that he genuinely cared about making a good first impression with whomever he was meeting. He memorized people’s names, told them it was a pleasure meeting them. 

If human beings were made of light, his would be blindingly radiant. 

Beverly was the last person he met. Bill had been prepared to introduce the two of them to one another, as he had with everyone else, but the introduction proved unnecessary as soon as the two of them locked eyes. 

“Beverly Marsh?” Ben asked once he was standing in front of Bev, finding it harder to keep eye contact with her than he had experienced with the rest of the staff. 

Bev, who had been in the middle of rolling out some dough for a pasty, stopped her work immediately. She wiped her hands off on her apron, abandoning her post to cross over to him. 

“Hi! You must be Ben? Ben Hanscom?” she asked. She was the first to offer her hand out for a handshake, a gesture Ben returned after a moment of nervous hesitation. “Welcome to Prospect street.” 

The two of them kept their hands clasped, until Ben seemed to notice how unnaturally long their handshake had gone on, laughing quietly before politely withdrawing himself. 

“You know Bev?” Mike piped up from the third-wheel peanut gallery off to the side, reminding the two that there were other people within the immediate vicinity. 

“Not personally. I- … Well, I mean, I watched some of your videos. Bill sent me a few. I love the ‘Recipes Simplified’ series. I think it’s a great way of breaking down dishes most people are too intimidated to try making themselves. It’s very soothing,” Ben said. 

Bev seemed genuinely touched by the compliment. Recipes Simplified was her own personal tutorial series on the channel, the idea that had gotten them started on making videos in the first place. 

“Thank you… that’s a huge honor coming from you,” Bev replied. 

Ben scratched the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. 

“You don’t need to flatter me-” 

“I’m not! Really. I read the articles you've had published in Eatingwell Magazine. The connections you make between healthy eating and mental health is nothing short of inspiring.” 

Even in the moments that Ben and Bev became lost in their own world and conversation, Ben’s visit had been nothing short of pleasant for everyone involved. They all unanimously agreed that he was a perfect addition to the kitchen, and even offered to help him with unpacking once he managed to get all his belongings sent to Boston. 

Ben was the calm before the storm. 

Hurricane Tozier hit two days later. 

He had agreed with Bill that he would show up in a cab to their kitchen sometime around noon that day, and arrived at 3:27 pm. 

Mike and Bill were the first two staff members to meet him, going downstairs together so they could let him in through the front doors and lead him up into the kitchen. 

Eddie had positioned himself in one corner of the room so he had direct eyeshot to the front door of the kitchen. He wanted to be aware as soon as Richie walked into the room, so he could start sizing him up and evaluating him. 

It turned out that his strategic position wasn’t necessary. As soon as Richie made his way through the door he made his presence in the space painfully obvious, letting out a (very loud) impressed whistle as he sauntered his way into the room. 

“Nice place you got here! You’ve got ovens and everything. Very functional,” he said, craning his head around while he observed the space. 

“Thanks. We pride ourselves on having functional equipment,” Mike responded as he followed after Richie. “Bill and I actually installed most of this ourselves. Bev took care of the ‘design’ aspect of the interior.” 

“No shit. Really?” Richie asked, now walking backwards, hands in his pockets, while he inspected the view from the windows along the edge of the room. “Damn, Bill. If you had told me I was going to be auditioning for a bonafide team of Do-It-Yourself carpenters, I would have brought my tool belt with me.” 

‘ _Carpentry is wood-working, asshole. Not electronic installation_ ,’ Eddie thought to himself, eyes narrowing as he glared from across the room. 

Bill did not seem as put off by Richie’s comment. On the contrary, he happily followed behind him, pointing at various places in the room to draw Richie’s attention to. 

“So down that hallway is the break room, my office, and Mike’s office. Bathrooms are on the first floor, shared space with the company that works below us. Hopefully once we get big enough we can rent out the whole building, but for now we’ve only got the second floor,” he said. 

There were a few other people working in the kitchen around Eddie, so it was hard for him to hear much of the conversation. Besides the sound of Richie’s voice, which seemed to echo through the room no matter where he stood in it. 

Eventually, Bill turned to the topic of introductions. 

“Oh! Let me introduce you to the team. Bev is…” he started, trying to find her among the staff in the room. 

“Out on a cigarette break. She’ll be back soon,” Mike said. 

“A woman after my own heart,” said Richie. 

“Yours and everyone else’s,” Mike replied, with an earnest smile. 

“Absolutely,” Bill agreed. “In the meantime I guess we can introduce you to Eddie. Hey Eddie!” Bill called out, locating him right away. 

Richie looked over in the direction Bill was looking, locking eyes with Eddie for the first time. 

Bill had told (begged) Eddie to be on his best behavior for this meeting. So when he looked at Richie, despite the bubbling annoyance he already felt for the man, he put on the most comfortable smile he could manage and gave him a small wave with his hand. 

It was a very uncomfortable smile. Near-constipated. 

Richie responded by offering him up a classic ‘double finger guns’, Eddie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he dropped his hand and frowned. 

“Eddie, come over here! Say hello!” Bill said. 

Eddie had been in the middle of doing something, but it wasn’t labor intensive or time sensitive enough to refuse the invitation. He abandoned the tomato he was cutting on the cutting board, excused himself to quickly wash his hands in the sink, and made his way over to the small gathering as he dried his hands off with a small hand towel. 

Eddie Kaspbrak could be cordial. He had always been a huge hit among local parents in his home town for his polite introductions. He drew on the years of professional conduct he had learned, and spoke up.

“Hello. You must be Richie? I’m Edward Kasprak. French cuisine and gourmet specialist,” he said. 

“Hey, how’s it going? Richie Tozier. Humor and dick-joke specialist,” Richie replied, holding out a hand towards Eddie. “Put it there.” 

Eddie switched the towel to one hand so he could reach out to grasp Richie’s hand. 

As soon as their skin was about to make contact, Richie pulled his hand back, combing it through his hair with a faint ‘whooshing’ sound effect. 

He cackled when that earned him a scowl from Eddie. 

“Sorry for yanking your chain, couldn’t help myself. Seriously. Nice to meet you,” Richie said after, offering his hand again. 

Eddie hesitated for a moment, before he tried for a second handshake. 

Once more, the moment he was about to make contact, Richie snaked his hand out of the way. This time instead of the sound effect, he chuckled and said “Oooh, too slow. Better luck next time, sport.” 

Richie offered his hand again, leaning down to be a bit closer to Eddie’s eye level with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Come on. Third time’s a charm.” 

“Are you going to be this insufferable the entire time you’re here?” Eddie asked curtly, no longer interested in shaking Richie’s hand. 

Bill cleared his throat from behind Richie. 

“Eddie…” 

“No, my man Eds over here has a point. I’m pretty insufferable,” Richie said, withdrawing his offered hand and sticking it back in his pocket, 

“Just Eddie is fine,” Eddie said, beginning to wring out the towel between his hands. 

“Whatever floats your boat, Eduardo.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows pressed together tightly on his forehead. His grip tightened on the towel. 

“Are you trying to piss me off right now?” he asked. 

“Why? Is it working?” Richie shot back. 

“Dude, I _literally_ just met you. Why are you being such an asshole?” 

“This might come as a shock to you, but I was actually trying to be nice up until you called me an insufferable prick?” 

“I did not call you a prick! And you were being insufferable!”

“Guys?” Mike said, trying to enter the conversation. 

“Well excuse the _hell_ out of me for trying to make a light-hearted introduction,” Richie continued, Mike’s plea falling on deaf ears. 

“That’s not light-hearted! It’s not even funny! What’s the punchline? ‘ _Oh haha, look at this dumbass, trying to introduce himself properly_ ’. Where’s the fucking joke?” 

“You kiss your mother with that mouth? Non-rhetorical question, I have a date with her in a few hours and I’d like to know how many bottles of Listerine I need to bring with me.” 

“My mother’s dead _dickwad_ so good luck trying to meet up with her at fucking Olive Garden or whatever the fuck you think constitutes as a romantic destination. And what are you, 12? Mom jokes? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?” 

“I can ‘come up’ with something a bit more suited to your tastes in about 5 minutes if you give me a playboy magazine and a Viagra.” 

“See, you’re trying to make some cheap ‘gay’ joke at me right now, but all you’re doing is making it sound like you can’t get it up on your own! So who's the idiot now, idiot?!” 

“I could get it up sans Viagra if you’ve got any centerfolds of Mrs. Kaspbrak lying around.” 

“Oh! My fucking god! Dude! _STOP_!” 

The door to the kitchen opened, Beverly stepping around the corner with a smile on her face, ready to introduce herself to their newest team member. She stopped before saying anything when she noticed Eddie shouting in Richie’s face while the comedian smirked back at him. 

Her gaze shifted to Mike and Bill, pointing at the two and silently mouthing ‘ _Are they okay_?’ 

Mike returned her question with an uncertain shrug, while Bill mouthed back ‘ _I honestly don’t know’_. 

“Why don’t you make me?” 

“Bro, I am literally two seconds away from shoving this rag so far down your throat it comes out of your ass and gives you a permanent hemorrhoid.” 

“Tempting, but no thanks. I’m old fashioned. No fisting until the third date, _Bro_.” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Eddie!” Mike interjected, finally stepping in and taking a firm hold of one of Eddie’s shoulders. “Come on, man. Let’s go for a walk,” he said. He started to steer Eddie away, struggling to keep Eddie moving while the man tried to keep as much as his body turned towards Richie as possible. 

“This isn’t over, asswipe!” he shouted over his shoulder, seething as Richie gave him a friendly wave and a salute before the two of them had exited the kitchen. 

“Adios, Muchacho! Great talk!” he shouted, strategically right before the door closed, so he could get in the last word. Everyone in the room could hear Eddie shouting from behind the closed door but no one could make out his final words. 

As soon as Mike left with Eddie, Bill turned back to Richie. His shoulders sagged, letting out a long sigh, prepared to do damage control. 

“I’m sorry about him. He’s not usually…” he started, stopping when both Bev and Richie gave him skeptical glances. “Well. Okay. He’s usually like that. But he doesn’t mean any of it! Not r-really. Mostly.” 

“His bark is worse than his bite,” Beverly offered up, stepping in closer to Bill’s side. 

“Exactly. But if that’s going to be a p-p-problem, we can work with it. I’m sure I can… give him a day off any time you come in for filming, or we can shoot off-site at another location, o-or-” 

“No need,” Richie said, looking back in the direction of the door that Eddie exited through. 

“Mr. Tozier, please! I p-promise, if you’d re-consider, we can get something to work. I’ll talk to him, I’ll ask him to-” 

“Naw, man. I meant no need for the selling points. I’m in,” said Richie. 

Bill paused, blinked a few times, needing a couple moments for his head to catch up with the current situation. 

“You… you are? Really?” he asked. 

“Hell yeah. Honestly? You should have led with that guy. He’s a fucking riot,” Richie said, grinning as he leaned back casually against one of the kitchen counters. “ _‘Shove this rag so far down your throat it gives you a permanent hemorrhoid_ ’? Are you kidding me? He didn’t even have to think about it, it just came out of his mouth! Fucking incredible.” 

Bev was the first to smile, the tension dropping out of her shoulders as he laughed lightly at Richie’s response. 

“I’m glad you can appreciate him like we do. There’s never a dull moment around here with Eddie in the kitchen,” she mused. 

Truthfully, that was exactly what Richie had been concerned about when he received Prospect street’s job offer. 

Obviously, there was a reason why they wanted to hire a comedian to work with them. The same reason why any non-comedy based entertainment company needs a comedian. Their material is dry, and they need to bring someone in to actually turn the content into something people want to watch. 

If the Prospect Test Kitchen had been one of those companies, full of stuffy no-nonsense chefs trying to pull in some extra views with a comic-relief side character, Richie would have walked. No deal. 

But there was Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. Richie had heard rumors about the chef, but no story could measure up to the real deal. He was as loud as the gossip had promised. A bit taller than Richie expected, but still had to crane his head up to properly glare at him. Richie was used to people having to look skywards to meet his gaze, but something about the way Eddie puffed out his chest to try to compensate for the height disadvantage was so… funny? Endearing? 

Whatever it was, it caught Richie’s interest. 

A small (very, very tiny) part of him almost felt bad for pushing Eddie’s buttons so aggressively on their first meeting. But he couldn’t help himself. He had started poking at those buttons lightly just to see what it did, and now all he wanted to do was drag both his hands down the operating board and smash into every button and switch his hands could hit. Now that he had gotten a taste for it, Richie wasn’t sure if anything else would ever truly satisfy him on the same level ever again. 

He had to have more. And if the end result of that was death via strangulation at the hands of a tiny explosive maniac, Richie couldn’t think of a better way to go. 

“Well, if you’re sure… why don’t we go into my office to start drafting a contract? Mike should be able to join in when he gets back with Eddie. If that’s ok with you,” Bill said, still hesitantly nervous that Richie might suddenly change his mind about wanting to work there. 

“Sure thing, Big Boss,” Richie replied, pulling out his phone to send a quick text over to his agent to inform him of his decision. “You got anything to drink around here? I never sign off on anything without toasting to it.” 

Bill looked at his watch for a brief moment, checking the time, before looking back to Richie. 

“I have some cognac in my office? Or I could have someone here make you something if you’re more of a ‘mixed drinks’ kind of guy,” Bill offered. 

“Cognac it is!” Richie declared. He moved to the side, shaking Beverly’s hand one last time before they departed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand with a loud and dramatic ‘mwah’. 

“Bev, it’s been an honor. Can’t wait to start working with you,” he said earnestly, smiling when that got a small laugh and light eye roll from her. 

“The pleasure’s all mine. Be a dear and try not to get Bill day-drunk, I need to go over a supply order with him when you’re done in there,” she said. 

“Damn. You’ve foiled my plan to trick him into paying me more than I’m actually worth. Now I’m going to have to use real negotiation skills,” Richie joked dryly, but saluted at her all the same before Bill and Richie left. 

\- - - - - 

“Hey. Quick question. What the fuck?!” 

Eddie entered Bill’s office explosively, as Bill was in the middle of a call with a client. 

Bill let out an exhausted sigh as Eddie burst through the door. He had known that Eddie wouldn’t take the news of Richie’s official addition to the team well, so had put a plan in place to inform him of the new development in a more calming environment. 

But of course, gossip travels fast in any kitchen. It had been a few days since Richie's visit, plenty of time for word to spread out. Someone on their staff must have overheard Mike, Bill, or Beverly talking about the new contract. Clearly, Eddie then subsequently overheard someone else talking about the rumor. 

No taking it back now, it was time for the talk Bill had been dreading getting to. 

“I’ll… have to call you back,” Bill said to the person on the phone, waiting for a confirmation before hanging up. “Good to see you too, Eddie. Please, take a seat,” he said, motioning for one of the chairs. 

Eddie did not take a seat. He paced around the room, too riled up to keep still. 

“No. No! No, not happening. I didn’t sign off on this, he’s not joining. Call him back, tell him the offer’s off the table,” Eddie said. 

“Eddie, come on. Everyone agrees this is a really go-” 

“Fuck you! I don’t agree! I _dis_ agree! You said that this is a team, and everyone gets a say about what happens and what doesn’t. Well I’m using up all my veto powers! Tell Richie to fuck off. He’s rude, he’s disrespectful, he- he made a joke about my _dead mother_ , Bill. He’s going to get our videos demonetized for insensitive content! We’re going to get cancelled and have to take the entire channel down and he’s going to waltz right back into Hollywood because nothing he says or does is ever going to affect his career-” 

Bill allowed Eddie to go on rambling for a while, holding his head in his hands, eyeing the cognac bottle sitting on a small desk to the side of the room and internally debated the merits of pouring himself an emergency 1:30 pm drink. 

“- burn down the kitchen! Do you think he’s seriously paid attention to a safety manual at any point in his life? He’s a walking workplace hazard, we’re going to have to monitor him at all times when he’s here for filming. Even if he does clean his own dishes and whatever he uses I _guarantee_ he doesn’t know the right way to do it, then I’m going to have to rewash all of his dishes, which is going to take _hours_ out of my work day because I don’t want day old crusted food remnants all over my equipment, then I’m not going to get anything done, and-” 

“Eddie, we already signed the contract,” Bill cut in. He had meant to slowly lead Eddie into the reveal, but had to change strategies once it became clear that nothing but the cold hard truth would snap Eddie out of his tirade. 

“... You what?!” Eddie yelled, turning the full brunt of his fury onto Bill. “Bill, what the fuck?!” 

“I’m sorry!” Bill said, exasperated. “I was going to tell you before we finalized it, but Richie’s agent got back to me sooner than I thought he was going to. It was a _really_ fucking good contract, Eddie. We got him signed on for almost nothing, I couldn’t delay finalizing it just to check in with you. We need this,” he tried to explain. 

“Do we _need_ this more than we need me on the team? Because I’m about to walk out the door, Bill, I swear to god.” 

“ _Eddie_ ,” Bill pleaded. 

“No! You know what? Have fun with your little comedy shit-show! I don’t care anymore. Myra wants to go back to New York anyhow, and I’d rather be scrubbing dishes than getting involved with some food-truck grade moron who’s bound to take over the entire fucking channel,” Eddie snapped back. 

“Eddie, we need you too,” Bill tried to reason. “Seriously, part of the reason why Richie agreed to sign on at all is because you’re here.” 

It was meant to be a compliment, but somehow the comment made Eddie fume even harder. 

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit, Denbrough. Even if you are right, that means the only reason he wants me around is because he gets off on humiliating me, and I’m not going to just stand around and let him do that.” said Eddie. 

“You don’t have to! Look, I’ll- … Okay. I get it. Richie’s not easy to get along with. But so are you-” 

“I am a goddamn ray of sunshine!” 

“- SO, I think you need to give him a chance. You got off to a bad start, that doesn’t mean the entire professional relationship is doomed to failure,” Bill reasoned. He stood up now, moving around his desk so he could speak to Eddie directly. 

“Just… please. I’m begging you. _Please_ just- work with me here, okay? Meet me halfway. The contract we signed is only for 6 months. Like a … trial-version. Just enough time to raise our subscriber count, get this channel on the map. Once we’re established, if you still hate him, we won’t need to renew his contract. Alright? And I promise, I’ll keep working in your interest along the way. I’ll tell him to lay off you. But I need you here,” Bill said, raising his arms and putting both his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “And I need you to try to work with him. This is about more than you, or me, or Richie, okay? Bev’s the one who wanted to start this channel, she deserves a win.” 

Eddie frowned deeply, though his voice was quieter when he opened his mouth to speak again. 

“That’s not fair. You can’t play the ‘Bev deserves this’ card on me. Of fucking course she deserves this. I can’t say no to that.” 

“Which is exactly why I played it,” Bill mused, starting to smile again. 

“... 6 months.” 

“Right.” 

“And if I still don’t like him, he’s gone. For good.” 

“Exactly.” 

“... fine. But I will _not_ be happy about it,” Eddie finally conceded. 

Bill patted his shoulders firmly, now grinning. 

“That’s the spirit! And if you do change your mind, and want him to stay, you owe me,” said Bill. 

“Sure. I’ll build you a life-sized gingerbread house,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m serious. This is a bet now. We’re betting on this. If you change your mind, I get to send you out on a special location, off-site video shoot. Anywhere in the world I want. Any topic I want you to cover. We’re talking ‘pig-slop’ levels of video content.” 

“Yeah, well I’m not going to change my mind, so good fucking luck with that. And _when_ I don’t change my mind and Tozier’s gone, I want my own dedicated corner of the kitchen. Full of my own supplies, that no one else gets to touch,” Eddie grumbled. 

“Deal!” said Bill, firmly shaking Eddie’s hand to seal their deal. “But you actually have to try shooting videos with him, you can’t just avoid him.” 

“You get five videos of us together, in six months, and that’s it. No more,” Eddie replied.

“... Eight?” 

“I’ll agree to six.” 

“Seven?” 

“SIX.” 

“Fine. One video per month,” Bill said, giving Eddie’s hand a firm and final shake. “... and you start next week.” 

“Wait, what???” 

\- - - - - - 

  
  


**BACK TO BACK COOKING CHALLENGE: Salade Niçoise**

Uploaded by: Prospect Test Kitchen

Description: _The Test Kitchen gets a new addition! Can new-comer celebrity/chef Richie Tozier keep up with professional french cuisine expert Eddie Kaspbrak?_

[Beverly stands in front of the camera, waving at it with a smile. Next to her are two men, standing in front of two kitchen counters with ingredients laid out in front of them] 

BEV

Hello, and welcome back to Prospect Test Kitchen. Today is a very exciting day for everyone here, because we’re going to be trying out a bunch of new additions to the channel. For one, we have a few new members to the team! Please welcome one of the new recruits, our special guest host, Richie Tozier. 

[Bev motions aside at Richie Tozier. He waves at the camera, and speaks in a vaguely western/southern american accent] 

RICHIE

Well, hooooowdy~

BEV

And please welcome our resident french cuisine specialist, Eddie Kaspbrak! 

EDDIE

Hello, my name is Edward Kaspbrak. Most people call me Eddie, so you shall see me referred to as such throughout the video. I studied at the Culinary Institute of America, before I took on an apprenticeship with Jaques T-

[Eddie stops, because Richie has pulled out his phone, and has started to play the sound of crickets chirping at full volume. Eddie does not appear to be amused by this.] 

BEV

[Quietly] Richie, stop. 

BEV

[at full volume] Eddie has worked with us for a while, but this is his first full appearance on camera! You’ll also notice that this is our first non-tutorial video. 

RICHIE

[Affecting an 'annoncer'-like tone] That’s right, folks. We’re switching up the formula! Spreading our wings, spicing things up. So if you like what you see today, like, comment, and hit that bell like it owes you money. If you don’t like it, comment and hate-subscribe for more content you can waste your time complaining about. 

EDDIE

This isn’t going to be a regular ‘thing’. We’re still doing cooking tutorials. 

RICHIE

[still in his announcer voice] But not today! 

BEV

_Today_ we’re going to see if Eddie can teach Richie how to make a classic french dish, Salade Niçoise, without any visual assistance. Two professional chefs-

EDDIE

_One_ professional chef. 

BEV

Two chefs, back to back, working _together_. Gentlemen, turn towards your work stations. 

[Eddie and Richie both turn their backs on one another, focused on their own tabletops.] 

BEV

You have 30 minutes to complete this dish. Ready? Set…. begin! 

[Bev steps out of frame, leaving Richie and Eddie alone. Both have one camera focused on their work.]

EDDIE

Right. We are going to start with the Vinaigrette. All of the ingredients you need to combine for this are on the right-hand side of your table-

RICHIE

Which right? My right, or your right? 

EDDIE

Which r-.... Your right and my right are the same f***king right when we’re facing our tables. 

RICHIE

No, _your_ right would be the left hand side of _my_ table. 

EDDIE

_YOUR_ RIGHT, a****le. It’s the side without the tuna steaks on it. 

RICHIE

Wait, can we curse on this show? 

BEV 

[Offscreen] You’re not supposed to. We bleep Eddie’s language out. 

RICHIE

In that case. I *** ****** *** ******** **** *********** **** ********* **** 

[The camera zooms in on Eddie’s reaction. He is looking off to the side, as if regretting every life decision that has brought him to this point in his life as Richie continues swearing in the background] 

[Hard cut to a few minutes later, after everything has settled down on set and Eddie and Richie are re-focused on their task] 

EDDIE

We start with the Vinaigrette. We’re going to make a bit more than we are actually going to use, so we have enough to marinate our onions and dress the full salad. If we have anything left over, vinaigrette is best used fresh, but it can be kept in a refrigerated environment for up to one week. 

RICHIE

So I’m putting olive oil into a bowl. 

EDDIE

Would you wait until I tell you what to start with? Are you even measuring out the oil right now? 

RICHIE

Sure. I’ve got… one finger of olive oil. 

EDDIE

_CUPS_. You need. To measure. Olive oil. In cups. You need 3/4 a cup of olive oil. So pour that oil out of- wait, did you say a bowl? 

RICHIE

Yeah, I’ve got 3/4 a cup of Grade A EVOO. In a bowl. 

EDDIE

First of all, you _don’t_ , because you didn’t actually measure out your olive oil. SECOND, the bowls are for dressing the potatoes and marinating the onion! The olive oil goes into the jar so you can mix the vinaigrette by shaking it. How were you going to mix the vinaigrette in a bowl, d*****t? We don’t have any whisks on the table. 

[Richie looks into the camera, raising a hand] 

RICHIE

Question, does him calling me d*****t count as workplace harassment? Should I be filing an official complaint right now? 

BEV

[Offscreen] We’ll take your complaints into consideration when you stop antagonizing him. 

RICHIE

[Shrugging] Fair ‘nuff. 

[Richie pours his olive oil into the jar] 

RICHIE

What’s next, Martha Stewart? 

EDDIE

Shut up. Next, you need one third a cup of lemon juice. 

[Eddie measure out his lemon juice into the proper cup, and adds it into the jar. Richie picks up his small bowl of lemon juice, eyes it, and adds an amount into the jar that feels ‘right’.] 

EDDIE

You need three tablespoons of chopped shallot, two tablespoons of chopped basil, two tablespoons of chopped oregano, and one tablespoon of thyme… 

[Again, Eddie meticulously measures out all of the pre-chopped ingredients. Richie adds a fair amount of shallot, a medium amount of oregano and basil, and a small amount of thyme] 

EDDIE

… I can hear you, you know. 

RICHIE

Congratulations. I’ll go ahead and return that hearing aid I bought for you. 

EDDIE

I can _hear_ that you haven’t touched any of the measuring spoons. You know these ingredients aren’t pre-measured, right? You can’t just add the whole amount into the jar. 

RICHIE

Oh, I’m sorry. 

[Richie reaches over, and begins to obnoxiously rattle the measure spoons in his hand]

RICHIE

Is _this_ better? 

[Close zoom in on Eddie’s face again. Spoons are aggressively rattling in the background. He is back to looking off to the side. He has gone beyond reconsidering his life decisions. He is now contemplating murder.] 

RICHIE

[Offscreen] IS _THIS_ BETTER? 

[Hard cut to a few minutes later, both Richie and Eddie are shaking their jars in order to mix the vinaigrette] 

EDDIE

Once you’re done with that, place it off to the side. We’re going to cut our onions, to pre-soak in the vinaigrette. Take one onion, cut it in half. Put one half aside, take the other half, and slice it into thin slices. 

[Richie puts his jar down, smirking at the camera. He picks up his knife and his onion, and mouths ‘watch this’ into the camera, with a wink.] 

EDDIE

The thinner your slices here, the better. That will make it easier for the onion to soak up the vinaigrette, and will cut most of the bite of the raw onion out of the final salad. They don’t need to be soaking in a lake of vinaigrette, just about three tablespoons should do the trick… 

[Richie takes something out of his pocket, that looks like the tip of a human finger. He bends his middle finger in half, places his hand down on the cutting board, and positions the fake finger over where the end of his middle finger would normally go] 

EDDIE

With the proper kitchen knife, sliding your knife over the onion is going to be more effective than trying to chop down on top of it with brute force. That’s the trick to getting even, thin slices of anything you are trying to cut in the kitchen. These knives were sharpened right before filming-

[Richie thumps the knife down on top of the fake finger, causing it to spray a stream of red up into the air. Richie lets out a ‘startled yell’. Eddie stops what he is doing, jumping, turning around and moving besides Richie to see what the problem is.] 

EDDIE

What did y- WHAT DID YOU DO?! 

[Eddie grabs Richie’s wrist, pulling a towel out of his apron and pressing it on top of Richie’s ‘injured’ finger] 

EDDIE

You f*****g idiot!!! Keep pressure on this, do NOT move! 

[Eddie begins shouting at Bev and the camera operators] 

EDDIE

I need the first aid kit!! And ice! We need to ice his- [makes a small gagging noise] f-finger!!! I told you to keep pressure on that, stop f******g trying to look at it!!! 

[Richie had removed the towel from his finger, holding the finger up in front of Eddie] 

RICHIE

Holy s**t… f**k, I… 

EDDIE

You’re going to bleed out or get f*****g, tetanus or something, stop!!! 

RICHIE

Hey, don’t sweat it… don’t worry… 

[Richie smiles now, popping up the rest of his middle finger, clearly still in tact]

RICHIE

I always keep a spare on me. 

[Eddie stares at Richie, mouth agape. The room is silent for a few moments.]

EDDIE

… what the f**k is wrong with you? 

[Richie loses his cool, now doubled over, clutching his stomach while laughing.]

EDDIE

WHAT THE F**K IS WRONG WITH YOU, WHO _RAISED_ YOU-

[Hard cut a few minutes later. Eddie and Richie are back to back again, Beverly positioned between them. Bev looks exhausted, but keeps her polite smile on for the cameras] 

BEV

So, we had to take a short intermission to get things back on track. Nobody was injured in the making of this video, before or after our cameras cut out. And everyone has promised me they are going to be on their best behavior for the rest of the video. Isn’t that right, boys? 

RICHIE

Yes, ma’am. 

[Eddie is silent, glaring ahead of him.] 

BEV

… Eddie? 

EDDIE

… don’t see why I have to apologize. He started i-

BEV

_Eddie_. 

EDDIE

FINE. Best behavior. But I’m not eating any of his salad when he’s done making it. It’s going to suck. 

RICHIE

You have very little faith in my salad tossing skills. 

EDDIE

I have absolutely no faith in your salad tossing skills. 

RICHIE

Then why don’t you come over here and toss my salad for me, big boy? I’ll suck, and you toss- 

\- - - - - - - - 

They wrapped filming that episode around 3 hours after they expected to be done for the day. 

It was a train wreck. A shit-show. Eddie was frustrated, but a sick part of him was glad it had gone wrong. 

Surely, Bill would see how Richie Tozier wasn’t going to work out on their channel. It was a lost cause. A bad investment. As soon as the numbers came in, the multiple comments about how disorganized the video was compared to their previous content, then Bill would see that Eddie was right the entire time. 

24 hours after the video was uploaded to their channel, Bill posted the initial statistics up onto a white board just outside of his office. 

24 hours. 900,000 views. 70k thumbs up. 435 thumbs down. 2,500 comments. 

Eddie stood in front of the white board and glared at the small smiley face Mike had added next to the statistics. 

“Fuck.” 


	2. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie makes an important discovery about himself, realizing he's gotten himself into some deep shit. 
> 
> Bill plays mediator between Richie and Eddie, trying to put a plan in place to make sure things don't get nasty in the kitchen. 
> 
> The test kitchen gets a new hire, and everyone goes out to celebrate with drinks. 
> 
> Mistakes are made. Bonds are formed. Tequila is consumed. And everyone discovers that Eddie is "that guy" who whips his shirt off before getting into drunken fist fights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BACK AT IT IN THE TEST KITCHEEEEN! 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments so far! They have brought me MUCH INSPIRATION. 
> 
> So remember that part where I said the chapters were going to get shorter from here? I LIED! Each chapter will probs average around 10k. That's fine though, just means there's more to consume!! Wahoo! 
> 
> Hope you guys like this chapter! ;] Updates will keep coming with a couple days in between them, but I'm not working next week so Chapter 3 might be out a bit sooner!

Richie Tozier had a terrible habit of giving himself problems. 

To most people, problems were something that happened to you. The universe, or fate, or whatever higher power there was would cause a problem, and you were powerless to stop it. 

But not Richie Tozier. Like a moth drawn to an electric bug zapper, Richie was drawn to situations that would end very badly for him. 

He was the one refused to go to any college that wasn’t a culinary school, only to drop out mid freshman year. He was the one who decided moving to California would be ‘good for his mental health’. 

This was why Richie didn’t do long-term contracts. Why he hated contracts in general. Sometimes you just don’t know whether a decision you’ve made was a bad one or not, until after you’ve made that choice. And there had been plenty of times in Richie’s life where he could have used a ‘post-decision emergency abort button’. 

Because sometimes you don’t realize that the main reason why you’ve agreed to work with a company is because you think one of their employees is _cute,_ until after you’ve signed a 6 month contract. 

He knew right from the beginning that Eddie was why he wanted to sign on for the show, but thought there had to be some reasonable explanation for it. 

He had told himself that it was just because Eddie was entertaining. 

Richie had once agreed to play a side character in a stoner comedy, just because the producers had promised to let him have a kiddie pool full of beer in his dressing room. Immature professional decisions were his shtick. 

He had one moment of doubt before signing the contract. The pay was horrendous, not even half of what he could normally make on his usual gigs. Was pushing some guys buttons really worth the pay cut? 

And Richie had said yes. Like an idiot. 

And then one week after the contract was finalized, Richie suddenly remembered: Oh wait, I’m gay, and this hyperactive chihuahua-man is exactly my type. 

Richie was gay, but he didn’t like to think about it. There weren’t many times throughout the day that Richie allowed himself to look at men for more than an alloted period of time. 5 seconds, then you have to move on to the next person. 

So when Richie first saw Eddie, he didn’t allow himself to think about that possibility. Eddie was obviously funny, and interesting, and the rest of the crew seemed to like him. Richie knew he was fascinated, but could safely assume it was like the same fascination he had with any odd duck out. 

But then they started working together. Filming together, standing in the same room as one another. And with each brief glance, every single second of interaction between them, Richie discovered something new about Eddie that was, capital D, Definitely going to be a problem. 

Despite his best efforts to squash those ideas out of his head, Richie had always had a ‘type’. Of course he’d never act on it, but ‘preferences’ and ‘interests’ managed to infect his idle thoughts. He had built the image in his mind of the sort of man he would go for, in a fictional kinder world where he didn’t have to worry about getting his ass kicked for wearing the wrong shade of salmon. 

He knew he liked shorter men. Someone he could fold up into his arms like a pretzel, or rest his chin on top of when he was drained and wanted a place to rest his head. He wasn’t into body-builders, didn’t really care for anyone with too much machismo going on. But he didn’t mind the look of athletic men, could appreciate the look of toned arms and legs. He didn’t click well with gay men who fully embraced their effeminate side either, felt deeply uncomfortable in the presence of someone who could so loudly and flamboyantly wear their sexuality on their sleeve. He respected it, admired their bravery, but something about it set his flight instincts into turbo-mode. 

Eddie was short. He wore full layers of clothing, but the clothes were slim-fit enough to tell he had a recent runner’s body. Sometimes he wore something pink, but in that way straight men wear pink because its just a fucking color and wasn’t being gate-kept by ‘ladies and twinks only’. He looked like an average-joe. With huge, dark brown eyes, and an expressive face that always let you know exactly how angry he was with what you just said to him. 

He looked normal, but god he was the furthest thing away from average that Richie had ever met. 

Richie had met meticulous people before. One of his best friends, Stan Uris, was one of those people. Stan was a very organized person. Everything had its proper place in his life, and if any of those things moved from its proper place, he was liable to have a panic attack over it. Despite his neurosis he was still just enough of an ass for Richie to admire, gave as good as he got when it came to flinging insults back and forth. 

So Richie convinced himself that that was why he liked Eddie right off the bat. He reminded him of Stan. And he had never been attracted to Stan, so that wasn’t a problem. 

But the thing with Stan was, he had a breaking point. Eventually in their conversation Richie could find something to say that was just vile enough to make Stan roll his eyes into the back of his head, turn his heel, and walk off before Richie could subject him to any more off-color jokes. 

Not Eddie. No matter what Richie said, no matter how far he took it, Eddie wouldn’t budge. He’d raise his voice, tell Richie to stop, wave his hands through the air like he was battling a legion of fruit-flies, but stood his ground. Just when Richie was sure he’d finally done it, said something that was going to make Eddie drop the conversation, Eddie would come back with a snappy retort that struck Richie upside the head from out of left-field. 

Richie wasn’t cruel. He knew that he wasn’t an “easy” person to talk to. When he teased people, he always made sure they had an easy way out of the conversation. Eddie had every opportunity to steer clear of Richie. To avoid speaking to him for the sake of his own sanity. And then he didn’t. He’d stay, and bicker, and shake his finger in Richie’s face until one or both of them were dragged out of the conversation by a third party. 

The harder Richie pushed, trying to get Eddie to get fed up enough to create the distance between them that Richie was never going to be able to build on his own, the harder Eddie pushed back. 

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. 

Still, Richie was convinced it wasn’t going to be a problem. So what if Eddie was not half-bad looking. So what if he was an interesting person. So what if Richie’s hands started itching any time Eddie was around and crowded into his space, yearning so hard to reach out and put them anywhere on the other man’s body that he had to keep his hands buried in his pockets to contain them. 

His saving grace was that Eddie clearly hated him. That was a familiar reaction, Richie could work with that. Richie was a bit of a masochist, but he wasn’t about to fall “in love” with someone who genuinely did not want to have him around. It wasn’t like Eddie was laughing at his jokes or anything. Richie couldn’t fall for someone who didn’t have a sense of humor. 

Then one day, Richie was visiting the kitchen to meet with Bill and Mike about some new ideas for videos. More ways they could branch out beyond cooking tutorials, ideas to pull in a wider audience. 

They were shooting the shit over in the kitchen, next to a pile of dishes waiting to be cleaned in one of the sinks. Richie had brought up the idea of hosting a ‘fake’ cooking show, led by a fictional character. 

“You know, sort of like a comedy sketch. Funny outfits, weird hats. I can see it now,” he said, waving his hands through the air for dramatic effect. He picked out a vaguely Spanish sounding accent, and pitched an example. 

“Hallo, and welcome to ‘La Hornada Cocción’. I am your host…” he said. After this he reached into one of the empty bowls, with just enough brownie batter left on the sides to scoop a decent amount onto his finger. He smeared it over his top lip. 

“... Dirty Sanchez.” 

Richie didn’t even know that Eddie was in the vicinity until he heard a sudden muffled laugh off to his left hand side. He spun around just in time to see Eddie’s face turn from a contorted grin, to confusion, back to mild annoyance. 

“... That’s fucking gross, dude. Get out,” Eddie said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve as if he had to rid it of any remnants from the smile that had just been on his face. He pushed into Richie’s personal space, hip-checking him to the side, so he could pull the dirty dishes into the sink and start to scrub them clean. 

Richie stood off to the side, batter still smeared over his lip, and said to himself:

‘ _Fuck_ ’. 

Eddie had just laughed. At a _poop_ joke. And Richie had fallen just a little bit in love. 

So Richie had a huge problem on his hands. He was now contractually obligated to work with Eddie Kaspbrak. A man who was Straight. Married. Might or might not hate Richie. Whom Richie was just a little bit in love with. 

The first thing Richie did when he realized what he had gotten himself into was consider breaking the contract. Sure, it would have been rude. But Richie had broken contracts before, and he still managed to keep a career in show business. 

All he had to do was email Bill and tell him that a studio needed him for something bigger, and that he wouldn’t be able to make it back to Boston for any more videos. Easy. Done-zo. 

He had written up the email four times. But every time before he hit the send button, he’d think about one of the people in that kitchen. About how friendly they were, in a way that didn’t feel rehearsed. 

He thought about Bev, letting him bum multiple cigarettes off of her. Both of them sitting on the back steps behind the kitchen, chatting through their entire smoke break. 

He’d remember a lazy afternoon spent in Bill’s office with him and Mike. They had set up Bill’s small wastebin in the middle of the floor, and all of them took turns trying to flick paper balls into it from different corners of the room. 

He thought about Ben. Sweet, beautiful Ben. He couldn’t make Ben sad. It would be like kicking a puppy. 

And Eddie. 

Well, Richie was sure Eddie would have been overjoyed if he terminated the contract. But then everyone else would be disappointed. 

He deleted every email before he sent it. 

By the time he closed his laptop, Richie knew he wasn’t going to drop out. Apparently he had chosen the most inopportune moment to finally grow a conscience. 

Leaving was no longer an option. Richie had to focus on survival. 

It was only six months. Richie could hold it together until then. He had stayed one hundred percent in the closet for his whole life, what was another six months of repressing his homosexuality? 

As long as he only fell just a little bit in love, he’d be fine. No problem. 

\- - - - - - - 

“All right, is everyone here?” Bill asked, at their next ‘Channel meeting’. 

Once a week, after the rest of the staff had gone home, everyone gathered in the common lounge area to have a meeting about the channel. How it was going, latest statistics, ideas for moving forward in the future. 

With Richie in town they had too many people to fit in Bill’s office, so they would all sit around the lounge while they discussed business. 

Once Bill counted heads and made sure everyone was present, he began. 

“Good! So we’ve got a lot to cover today. Ben’s video just reached one million views today, so congratulations are in order,” he started with. The room erupted with applause and cheers, as Ben smiled and looked down at his lap bashfully. 

“Mike and I pulled some of the top comments to see what worked best, so we get an idea of what we want to shoot next. We also have a potential sponsorship to discuss, some new equipment to demonstrate, and schedules to go over. But before I get to that, does anyone have something they want to make sure we get to before the meeting’s over?” Bill asked. 

“I have a list!” Eddie announced immediately, pulling two folded papers out of his sweater pocket. 

“God, here we go,” Richie complained, leaning with his arms crossed against one of the walls. 

“We don’t have a lot of time, Eddie…” said Bill. 

“Then I’ll make it fast,” Eddie insisted. And so he did. 

“Number one, someone has been leaving rotting food around the kitchen. It’s a health code violation, and it could get us shut down. I think we need to reinforce the rule that everyone who works in the kitchen is expected to clean up after themselves-” 

“Wait,” Richie cut in, eyes narrowed as he suddenly realized something. “You were the one who threw out my kombucha jars?” 

“ _That_ was kombucha? It looked like shit. It was growing mold,” Eddie snapped over his shoulder back at Richie. 

“That wasn’t _mold_ , moron, it’s called a scoby. How do you not know what kombucha looks like?” 

“You didn’t label it! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t trash?” 

“I labeled every single jar I left out!” 

“Yeah well I couldn’t read your shitty handwriting so you might as well have not labeled them at all.” 

Bill let out a loud whistle to gain Richie and Eddie’s attention before they could derail the conversation for an indeterminate period of time. 

“Bev, do you think you could set up some counter space somewhere for Richie’s kombucha jars? That way they don’t need to be near anyone else’s work in the kitchen, and no one accidentally throws them out,” Bill said. 

“I think I can find something across from the walk in cooler,” said Bev. 

“Good. That matter’s settled. Anything else, Eddie?” Bill asked. 

Eddie addressed the sheets of paper again. 

“Two, someone has been playing loud music in the kitchen. The kitchen echoes, and I don’t think it's fair to force everyone to listen to one person’s music-” 

“Eddie, do you have any matters that don’t directly involve Richie?” Bill clarified. 

Eddie frowned, looked at his sheet. He turned it over, then looked at the second sheet of paper. 

“... the men’s bathroom is out of hand soap, and I couldn’t find any in the supply closet.” 

Bill sighed. 

“I think it might be somewhere in my office, I must have forgotten to move it to the closet. You, Richie, and I can sit down tomorrow to go over the rest of your concerns. Anything else?” 

Eddie folded his papers back up, placing them back in his pocket. 

“No. I’m done,” he said. 

“Anyone else?” asked Bill. 

Beverly, who was standing up close enough to Ben, leaned over and lightly nudged him with one of her elbows. 

“You should tell everyone what you told me earlier,” she said to him. 

Ben seemed slightly panicked for a moment, arms crossing uncomfortably in front of his body. 

“I… I don’t need to. It’s nothing important,” he said. 

“It is!” Bev insisted. “No one’s going to think you’re being ‘snooty’, you made a good point.” 

“What point?” Mike asked. 

“Yeah, share with the rest of the class, Ben-jams,” said Richie. 

“Well… I was looking through some of the cabinets yesterday. I forgot where the metal bowls were, so I was going through most of them. And… I don’t know how to tell you this but… I think whatever contractors you worked with installed your cabinets wrong?” he admitted, fidgeting lightly with one of his hands. 

“They what?” Bill asked, somewhat deflated. 

“I mean, the cabinets are functional. They operate fine, but I noticed some missing supports along the undersides of some of the shelves. They’re holding for now, but you could get into some real trouble down the road if you don’t replace those studs. And a few of the hinges are crooked, so some of the doors aren’t sitting right,” Ben explained, still hesitant and concerned about coming off as rude. 

“Damn. We should never work with those contractors ever again,” Mike said to Bill, who dropped his head into his hands in response. 

“Hey, Mikey. Didn’t you say you and Bill installed most of the new cabinets around here?” Richie asked nonchalantly from the edge of the room. 

“I sure did,” Mike confirmed. 

It took Ben a moment to catch up to the implication. Once he understood what Richie and Mike were saying, a tidal wave of guilt hit him. 

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean you did a bad job- they’re really functional. I honestly thought a professional put them up-” 

“A shitty, lazy professional,” Richie quipped in. 

“Am I going to need to keep an eye out for falling plates now? If any of the staff members open up one of the cabinets and it breaks on them, they are liable to sue the company. There is no way this company can afford a court case for workplace injuries, we would be fucked,” Eddie added. 

“It’s fine,” Bill insisted, rubbing his face with anguish. “We’ll hire a professional to come in and fix everything.” 

“Or I could,” Ben offered. 

“You could?” asked Bill. 

“If you want? I’m no professional, but I, uh… home improvement is my hobby. I’ve been building things ever since I was a kid. I have all my own supplies, it’d be cheaper than hiring someone.” 

“You’d do that for us?” Bev asked, touched by Ben’s offer. 

“Of course! It's a quick fix, wouldn’t take me more than a few hours,” said Ben, smiling back over at Beverly. 

“Thanks, Ben. We’d really appreciate that,” Bill said, writing down a short note on his clipboard. 

\- - - - - - - 

The meeting continued on after that, just as they always had. They went through their agenda, wrapping up the meeting with an action plan for the next few weeks of filming ahead of them. 

But just as everyone was standing up to leave the room, Bill spoke up one more time. 

“Great work today everyone. Oh, and Richie. Before you go, could I see you in my office? There’s something I need to go over with you,” he said. 

“Cryptic,” Richie commented, but shrugged. He was a night owl anyhow, an extra 5 minutes in a meeting with Bill wouldn’t throw off his sleep schedule. So the two of them bade their goodbyes to everyone else, and made their way into Bill’s office. 

“What’s up, Big Bill?” Richie asked once they were inside with the door closed. “Did you finally fall madly in love with me? Should I undress?” 

Bill rolled his eyes. 

“Feel free to assume that pants are a mandatory requirement in all of our conversation from here on out,” he said. 

“Damn, you’re no fun.” 

“This is about Eddie,” Bill clarified, cutting right to the point. “I need you to lay off him.” 

“What?” Richie asked, feigning innocence. “Why Bill, I would _never_ lay on Eddie. He’s so small and fragile, I’d crush him under my body weight if I did that.” 

“I’m serious, Rich. I know that’s just… how you are, with everyone. But you need to give Eddie some extra space before he becomes a sentient stress ulcer,” said Bill. 

Richie let out an aggravated groan, helping himself to one of the chairs in Bill’s office, dangling one of his legs over the armrest. 

“Yeah, well. Good luck enforcing that one, I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. This factory model of Richard Tozier wasn’t built with a mental filter. I’d have to staple my mouth shut,” Richie said. 

“We have a staple-gun in the supply closet, that could be arranged,” Bill offered. 

“Oh, I’m sure if we did that Eddie would still have something to complain about. He’d probably go off on how I didn’t ‘properly sanitize’ the staples before lodging them into my face,” Richie retorted. 

Even if Richie tore out his vocal chords, Eddie would still have complaints. He’d complain about how Richie wasn’t standing up straight enough, or that Richie was staring at him for too long, or that Richie’s glasses weren’t cleaned properly. 

“I know he’s like, 4 feet tall, but isn’t he a grown man? Pretty sure he can handle his own shit,” Richie added after. 

Bill frowned, moving across the room to take another seat. 

“This isn’t about anyone’s levels of maturity… how much do you know about what Eddie went through before coming to the test kitchen?” he asked. 

Richie thought about it for a moment. He hadn’t really done intense research on any of the members of the staff before he joined. Eddie was probably the one he knew the most about, having read a few articles out of a morbid curiosity. Plus there was the gossip from the media, but Richie knew to take anything that tabloids said with more than a few grains of salt. 

“Well, I know he used to work in the restaurant business. Didn’t he kill a man for disobeying orders? Something like that,” Richie mused. 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think Eddie has it in him to actually kill anyone,” said Bill, not amused by Richie’s humor. “But he did get fired. Because someone pushed him too far, and he lost his cool. I don’t think I have to tell you that Eddie has…” he trailed off, trying to find a gentle way of putting it. 

“Explosive anger management issues?” Richie offered. 

There really wasn’t a gentle way of putting it, so Bill sighed and nodded. 

“Pretty much. Don’t get me wrong, I think he’s actually started to cool down a bit since he’s started working here. We’ve made a lot of progress, and I really don’t want to see all that work thrown out the window,” said Bill. 

“Damn. This is the calm version of Eddie? I’d love to see what he was like fresh out of hell’s kitchen,” said Richie. 

“No, you wouldn’t. None of us would,” Bill said sternly. “He’s been trying really hard to be a team player. _Really_ hard. He doesn’t need anyone trying to undo all that work to set him off again.”

“I’m not _trying_ to piss him off, Bill,” Richie said defensively. “I say the same shit to him that I say to anyone else.” 

“I know. But you’re not trying to _not_ piss him off. He’s not like everyone else, he can’t just shrug off whatever you say and ignore it,” Bill explained. “I’m not asking you to blow smoke up his ass, or worship the ground he walks on, ok? I just… need you to be a bit more delicate with him. I’m asking you to be nicer.” 

“Sure. You going to ask him to stop timing how long I wash my hands for down to the millisecond?” 

“I’ve already had this conversation with Eddie. He’s trying, the best he can. It would be a lot easier for him to do that if you gave an effort too,” said Bill. 

Richie was starting to get aggravated. He felt like a middle schooler who got called into the principal’s office to get scolded for writing on the bathroom walls again. He didn’t like being talked down too like that then, and he sure as hell didn’t appreciate it now. 

“Why am I the bad guy in this situation?” Richie asked. 

“I’m not saying you’re the bad guy, Richie. Nothing bad has happened. Yet. I’m trying to stop this now before any problems come up,” said Bill. 

‘ _Little too late for that, Billie-boy_ ,’ Richie thought to himself. He grumbled in response to Bill’s sentiment. 

“So, do you think you could work with me on this? You don’t need to be on perfect behavior. Just… maybe cut back on the jokes about his mom. And don’t spill shit on the counter just to see him throw a hissy fit over it. Could you do that for me? Reel it back about thirty percent?” 

Richie did not want to reel anything back. He considered telling Bill to go fuck himself. But it pained him to realize that Bill might have a point. Richie was having fun now, but he’d probably feel like shit if he said something that made Eddie go off the deep end and made him do something he’d regret later. 

Besides, it would probably make the whole ‘stupid inconvenient man crush’ situation a little easier to deal with. Richie was definitely into that look on Eddie’s face when he was in the middle of a righteous tirade. And Eddie would probably crowd into Richie’s space much less often if they weren’t constantly bickering with one another. 

“Fine,” Richie said begrudgingly. “I’ll play nice. But don’t expect me to turn into Saint Tozier or anything.” 

“I wouldn’t ask for anything else,” Bill said, looking relieved. “That’s all from me. Anything else you need to discuss before we lock up?” he asked after. 

Richie was about to say no, let’s bail, when a thought suddenly popped into his head.

“Oh. Actually, yeah. Weren’t you saying earlier that you were still looking around for one more person to add to the staff?” Richie asked. 

“I did,” Bill confirmed, looking intrigued. “Why? Did you have someone in mind?” 

“Sure do. Got a guy down in Georgia with a shit job who could use a change of scenery,” Richie said. 

“Old flame of yours?” Bill joked. 

“He should be so lucky,” Richie cracked back, smiling again. “We were much closer than the carnal desires of mankind could ever hope to reach. He was my favorite bartender for about 5 years running, kept me from breaking my skull open on the pavement outside his bar more times than I can count on all my fingers and toes. He’s more of a pastry chef now, but he still makes the meanest long island iced tea I’ve ever had the pleasure of chugging.” 

Richie pulled out his phone, texting over the contact information to Bill. 

“His name’s Stan. Plus he’s a real bonafide Jew with a capital J. He could do a couple of cultural videos, pull in some of that Hasidic revenue.” 

Bill opened his phone so he could look at the information after Richie sent it over to him, giving the phone a nod of approval. 

“Thanks, Richie. I’ll give him a call sometime this week.”

\- - - - - - - 

Richie, true to his word, tried to comply with Bill’s wishes. 

When the two of them almost bumped into one another passing by each other in the hallway, Eddie had turned around and snapped “Hey watch it, asshole,” at Richie. 

Richie wanted to say ‘Sorry, couldn’t see you down there.’ 

Instead, he frowned, and said “Jeez, sorry. Won’t happen again.” 

He didn’t stay to wait for a response. He continued on his way, never seeing the look of confusion that passed over Eddie’s features. 

About a week later, they were in another group meeting. 

Richie had brought up an idea that they should change the name of the channel. 

“Prospect doesn’t have any character to it. That’s a street name, not a youtube channel. It’s a weak base to build a brand off of,” said Richie. “We need something jazzy. Like, ‘Grandeur Test Kitchen’. Or ‘Sea-quest Test Kitchen’.” 

“We don’t _need_ to re-name the channel. It’s fine as is, plenty of successful restaurants are named after streets or nearby tourist attractions,” Eddie responded, almost immediately. “And it’s always been Prospect Test Kitchen, that name carries a history with it.” 

“Actually… I don’t think it was?” Bev said, scratching her chin thoughtfully as she tried to recall a memory. “Oh, what was it. You remember, right Bill? We named it something else but changed it after the first month.” 

“Shit, you’re right. Was it… scarlet spatula test kitchen? Maybe?” 

Bev shrugged, still struggling to recall it, but turned back to Eddie anyhow. 

“The point is, we’ve changed it before. It’d be nice to have a name that fits everyone here.” 

Eddie frowned at Bev’s betrayal, crossing his arms in front of him. 

“Fine. But we all have to agree it's a good name. And I think all of Richie’s ideas sucked. They sound like casinos in Las Vegas,” he grumbled. 

Richie wanted to say ‘Look, I know you’re jealous that you’ve never actually been to Vegas or had a single day of fun in your life, but don’t worry kiddo. I’ll take ya there when you’re old enough. I’ll even buy you your first hooker!’ 

Instead, he clenched his teeth. He bit back his quip, and waited for Bill to give his response. 

“We don’t have to change the name of it right away, I think it’s a good idea to wait until everyone’s happy with it. If everyone’s in agreement on that, we can move onto the topic of our new hire-” 

Richie stared ahead, forcing himself to keep his focus on Bill. 

Eddie turned his head to the side and looked at Richie, eyebrows furrowed, waiting for a comeback that never came. 

Then one day, Richie was sitting on his own in the kitchen. He had been filming, but the cameras were cut off and everyone went on break while they waited for some oil to heat up for an episode of “Will it Deep Fry?”. 

One moment, he was scrolling innocently through his phone, trying to find something to amuse himself with. The next, he had a full grown man standing directly in front of him, hands on his hips, revved up and ready to deliver a lecture. 

“How much space did you leave at the top of your oil pot?” Eddie asked sternly. 

Richie jumped a bit, surprised by Eddie’s appearance. 

“Christ, man. Give a guy a little heads up next time. Also, what??” Richie asked right back. 

“The pot you’re using for deep frying. How much oil are you using?” Eddie repeated. 

Richie felt like his entire body was buzzing, like lightning in a bottle. 

There were so many things he wanted to say. 

_‘Oh, I’m sorry Dad. Didn’t realize I was playing with something too dangerous for a young man my age. I’ll go put it back.’_

_‘About 15 cups of fuck off I know what I’m doing.’_

_‘Enough to get inside your mom later tonight’_

_‘Don’t worry, Mike said if I blow up the kitchen we all get to collect the insurance money.’_

But he didn’t. He pocketed his phone, and rubbed at one of his eyes under his glasses to buy himself time to think of something non-confrontational to say. 

“Relax. I left like, two inches of space at the top.” 

“ _Like_ two inches? Or two inches? Because one of those measurements could result in you burning the kitchen to the ground, which could result in a police investigation and arson charges,” Eddie said. 

“Would you fucking chill for two-” Richie started, dragging his hand over his face while desperately attempting to maintain his composure. Nice. Bill told him to be nice. 

“Look. I’ve deep fried food before. I used to work in a food truck. I know what I’m doing. Mike’s got the fire extinguisher nearby in case anything happens, Ben has a fire blanket, and I have safety gloves. I haven’t burned anything down in an oil fire for 40 years, I’m not about to start now,” Richie said, trying to keep his tone even. 

Eddie didn’t have anything to say in response to that. Now Richie could actually see the look on his face. It was the face of a man who had taken a wrong turn somewhere while trying to make his way through a new city, trapped in a neighborhood where the streets didn’t make sense. 

Richie was starting to get uncomfortable. Angry Eddie had been a lot easier to deal with than whatever this was. So Richie turned his head and averted his gaze, hunching his shoulders up.

“Can I go now? I’ve got shit to deep-fry,” said Richie. 

Eddie blinked, snapped out of whatever place his mind had wandered to, and backed away from Richie. He was back to his ordinary disgruntled self, though with a little less pep in his step as he made one final comment. 

“Safety goggles are on the second shelf of the supply closet. You still need to wear a pair over your glasses, even your giant frames can’t shield you from every angle,” said Eddie. He turned and left the kitchen, and Richie went to check on the temperature of the oil. 

Somehow, things were getting harder rather than easier. Richie wasn’t sure if he could last through six months of this anymore. 

\- - - - - - 

When all of the paperwork was finished, Bill made the official announcement that they had a new member to the test kitchen, Stan Uris. 

Richie had been the one to suggest they all go out to celebrate together, after Stan and his wife moved from Georgia into Boston. He specifically recommended going out on a bar crawl, because seeing Stan analyze and mock other bartenders drinks was prime Uris entertainment. 

They decided to go bar hopping around Boston. Living it up until 2 am when everyone in the city collectively went to bed, because Massachusetts was the state equivalent of an elderly catholic woman who didn’t like anyone having fun. 

They decided to start in a bar on Boylston street, migrate through downtown until they got to Faneuil Hall. 

Richie was in high spirits at the beginning of the night. He was always in a good mood when he knew he was about to consume a fairly large amount of alcohol. He was excited for everyone to meet Stan. The _real_ Stan, the one you saw after the polite introductions. Once he started to unclench a bit. 

Eddie and Richie hadn’t spoken directly to one another that day. Eddie was too dazzled by having ‘someone reasonable’ joining the team, and Richie stayed off to the back to let everyone else get their time with Stan. All reasons to think the night was going to be relatively ok. 

They got to their first bar, and everyone entered through the front door one by one. 

Richie hadn’t realized he wasn’t the last one to enter, until he felt someone tug him back by the collar of his shirt to keep him from entering the bar. 

He made a slight choking sound, turning his head to see who had him held captive. 

“We need to talk,” said Eddie. “Outside.” 

Richie looked back inside to where the rest of the group was gathered, who had realized they were suddenly down two people. 

“We’ll catch up! Get me a Sam Adams!” Richie called out, waving them onward. He stepped outside back into the cold winter air, moving with Eddie a couple of paces away from the door. 

“This better be super important, man. It’s freezing out here,” Richie said. 

“Why are you being such a dick?” Eddie asked, straight to the point. 

“You seriously couldn’t have asked me that inside? I’m always a dick.” 

“No, something’s different. I mean, you _are_ always a dick. But when you first came here, you were just obnoxious. This is a whole different type of dickish behavior,” Eddie said, breath coming out in hundreds of bullet-fire puffs. “When I try to talk to you, you barely seem interested in anything I’m saying. Sometimes you just straight up ignore me. You won’t even look at me when I talk to you! Which you had no problem doing before, so now I know something’s different. And then there were the times I entered the room and you left right away, and you won’t get within arms reach of me any time we’re in the same room.” 

Eddie waved his hands in little chopping motions to accentuate each point, head startling to tilt off to the side the more he spiraled down his list of concerns. 

“And you still treat everyone else the exact same, so I know all of this is about me and not about stress in your own personal life. I honestly don’t know why you’re being so fucking rude all of a sudden, and it’s stressing me the hell out. So I just. I need to know why,” said Eddie. 

He paused, waiting for a reaction. The rusty gears in Richie’s head were still turning, and he was unable to deliver a response quickly enough for Eddie’s patience. So Eddie continued, trying to fill the silence in the air. 

“I’ve been trying to come up with an answer, and I only have a couple of guesses that make any actual sense. Like, maybe you’re sick of me yelling at you? Or you don’t want me micromanaging what you’re doing. Or… or maybe you didn’t hear about why I got fired from my last job and you just found out, and you don’t want the same thing to happen to you. If that’s the case you don’t have to worry, it won’t happen again. Ever. I don’t even know why I did it at the time, I’ve never done something like that before. I’m not usually like that, I just- it was a really long week, and we had an important guest, and-” 

“Woah, woah, woah. Hey, Eddie. Woah,” Richie cut in, finally caught up with the conversation. He reached out, putting his hands over both of Eddie’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s not like that.” 

“... it’s not?” Eddie asked, in a much smaller voice than he wanted. 

Richie shook his head, aggressively enough to ruffle his hair. 

“Seriously. I read an interview about what happened. That kid sounded like a fucking prick. He probably deserved it,” Richie assured him. Eddie opened his mouth to say something about it, but Richie continued before he could cut in. 

“And I like it when you yell. I know, that sounds fucked up, but it’s true. I could do with a liiiitle less micromanaging? But I can deal with it. It’s part of your charm.” 

Eddie frowned, fidgeting with his gloves, allowing Richie’s hands to stay on his shoulders. 

“Then what is it?” he asked, gaining a bit of his confidence back. 

“Honestly? I’ve been trying to be nice to you,” Richie said. 

“... what?”

“I swear on your mother’s grave. Bill told me I had to be nicer to you.” 

Eddie blinked a few times. His face remained blank, before it sputtered back into life, with a sort of manic half-smile. 

“You’re joking.” 

“Serious as a heart attack.” 

“ _That_ was you being nice??? How did you fuck up being _nice_? I thought you hated me!” Eddie exclaimed, his eyes crinkling up with amusement. 

Richie couldn’t help but smile back at him, stomach fluttering while he thought about how _good_ Eddie looked when he was about to laugh at something. 

So both of them started laughing. At the ridiculousness of the situation, of the misunderstanding, and Richie’s complete inability to behave like a civilized human being. 

“I thought you hated me too!” Richie said, once he stopped laughing long enough to speak. 

Eddie’s chuckles slowly subsided, and the smile melted from his face. He seemed to need to think about that for a moment, staring at Richie’s chin as he did so. 

“... I think you’re annoying. And your cooking sucks, you don’t know shit about working in a real kitchen. I’ll probably regret saying this later but… I don’t really hate you. I don’t _like_ you, but… there’s worse people out there. You’re not a complete waste of resources. I guess,” Eddie said carefully. 

“Such moving words. I’ll have them put onto my gravestone,” Richie responded. 

Eddie chuckled again, despite himself. 

“All right. So can you promise you’ll stop trying to be nice to me? I’ll have a talk with Bill and let him know we can settle whatever issues we get into on our own. And that he won’t have to give you any armed bodyguards,” said Eddie. 

“Only if you promise to keep screaming in my face any time I use too much paprika on my chicken cutlets.” 

“Deal,” Eddie agreed. Richie let go of Eddie’s shoulders, so the two could shake hands on it. 

Neither of them let go of the handshake after it was complete. They stayed silent, before Richie brought them back to the moment. 

“Now come on, let’s get inside. My balls are freezing off right now, I need to get some circulation running back through them,” he said, letting go of Eddie’s hand as soon as he got a nod in return. 

The two of them returned back inside the bar, to meet up with their friends and begin the night’s festivities. 

\- - - - - - - 

Bar One. 

“So, Stan. How did you meet Richie?” Mike asked, once everyone was settled down with their first drinks of the night. 

“He held me at gunpoint and told me I had to be his friend because no one else wanted to be around him,” Stan replied dryly. 

“Staniel! You wound me. And here I thought we shared a special connection,” Richie said, holding a hand to his chest. 

“Sounds about right to me,” Bill said, and Stan let out a laugh. 

“Actually, I used to work at a bar near his apartment. He was one of my regulars. He puked on my floors all the time, but he was respectful enough to clean it up on his own. So I started letting him stay past closing time while I cleaned up at the end of the night,” Stan clarified. 

“And we’ve been madly in love ever since,” Richie added. 

“Shut up,” both Stan and Eddie said at the same time. They looked to one another after the moment happened, sharing an understanding smile. 

“I still can’t believe Richie actually knows someone who isn’t an idiot. Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate set up to a prank?” Eddie asked. 

“I know, but it’s true. For some reason, I willingly offer up my free time to listen to this guy test out his stand-up material. It’s a horrible job, but someone has to do it,” Stan replied. 

“You don’t have to. Seriously. If you ever want the problem to ‘disappear’, let me know. I’ll help you hide the body,” said Eddie. 

“Tempting…. I’ll let you know. If you ever see a burner phone show up in your locker with only one contact on it, assume that operation ‘Richie Disposal’ is a go,” Stan said. 

“Oh shit, do you think I’d get on Dateline if that happened? Hell yeah, I’m down,” Richie agreed. He raised his glass into the air over the table. “Cheers! To the eventual reality of my bloated corpse floating down the Charles River.” 

Everyone laughed, and clinked their glasses together. 

\- - - - - - - 

Bar Three. 

“Wait, Eddie. You speak French?” Richie asked. 

“Yeah, shit-for-brains. It’s called being cultured. You should try it some time.” 

“You know, I also speak French,” Richie added. 

“No way! I don’t believe you,” Mike said from across the table. 

“He does not,” Stand clarified from his own seat. 

“Say something in french right now! Prove it!” Bill challenged, pausing in the middle of writing down everyone’s next order for a round of drinks. 

Richie cleared his throat dramatically, and slipped into a french accent. 

“But of course, mon ami. I would be ‘appy to indulge you in this,” Richie said. 

Eddie groaned, loudly. “God.” 

“Cherche moi groi, avec les orleis! Se sui von blanche.” 

“Those aren’t actual words, moron!” 

Mike laughed, standing up to take the list of drinks over to the bar. 

“He actually sounds more french saying fake words than you do actually speaking French, Eddie,” he said, before disappearing to avoid Eddie’s wrath. 

Bill leaned aside towards Richie, speaking in a hushed tone. 

“It’s true. It’s bad. He sounds like someone from Brooklyn trying to read a menu.” 

“That’s not true! My pronunciation is fine!” Eddie shouted, trying to defend himself. 

“Prove them wrong, then! Serenade me with the language of love, Edmund. Speak some French at me,” Richie said. 

Eddie scowled. Then grumbled. Then rattled off a few sentences for Richie in french. 

It sounded horrendous.

Everyone pointed and laughed at Eddie’s demonstration. He flipped them off, told everyone to go fuck themselves, and left in a huff to help Mike bring the drinks back to the table. 

\- - - - - - - 

Bar Five. 

“SOMEONE BETTER FUCKING TELL ME WHAT A DIRTY SANCHEZ IS RIGHT NOW!” 

Absolutely everyone at the table besides Eddie and Richie were losing their minds laughing. 

“Eddie!! Stop shouting that!!!” Bev tried to say, in between powerful fits of laughter. 

Ben had his face in his hands, not doing much in terms of muffling the volume of his amusement. Bill was on the floor, one hand holding onto Mike’s leg for support. Mike was a hot second from falling out of his own chair. Stan was hitting his fist against the top of the table, bent over until his forehead was pressed into the wood grain in front of him. 

“You didn’t know this whole time?! I thought I actually got you to laugh at a poop joke, why did you laugh at that?!” Richie shouted, devastated at the loss of what he had once held as a major accomplishment. 

“You had batter on your face and you were doing a weird voice! I don’t know!!! Just fucking tell me what a dirty sanchez is!!” Eddie shouted back, standing up at the table, almost knocking a half-full pint of beer while gesturing. 

“Just google it!” Richie exclaimed. 

“I DON’T WANT ANYTHING GROSS IN MY SEARCH HISTORY JUST TELL ME!” 

\- - - - - - - - 

Bar Six. 

They had just been politely asked to leave their sixth bar, all shuffling back out onto the street while they decided where the final part of their night would leave them. 

“I don’t want to go hooooome,” Bev complained, spinning a bit with her arms out at her sides, then stumbling and catching herself. 

“Me neither… Nither? Not me,” Ben concurred, watching to make sure Beverly didn’t stumble too close to the road. 

“I don’t think we can show up to a bar and get served, guys…” Stan said, one arm thrown over Bill’s shoulders and using him as a human support. “We’re _really_ drunk right now. I’d cut us off if I were working.” 

“But I don’t want to go _home_ ,” Bev repeated, distraught. 

“Well… we have some more beer back in the kitchen, right? I think there’s vodka. Do you cook with vodka?” Mike mused. 

“We do!” Bev exclaimed excitedly. “Let’s go there!” 

“Everyone!” Richie said suddenly, raising his voice to get the group’s attention. “You may thank me now… I just had. The Best idea,” he said triumphantly. 

“What? A Full body wax?” Eddie said sardonically. 

“No, I'm saving that for season 8. I’ll make you a sweater out of it.” 

“Gross.” 

“No. My idea. Is…. Drunk kitchen!” Richie said, raising his eyebrows, waiting for the roar of applause he rightfully deserved. 

“Drunk kitchen?” Bill asked, phasing in and out of paying attention to the conversation around him. 

“Drunk. Kitchen.” said Richie. 

“Like, a video?” Bev asked. 

“Drunk kitchen! Issa… contest or. Challenge or something. Drunk kitchen! Winner gets… I don’t know. Body shots off of the loser. Drunk kitchen, guys!” Richie explained. “Come on, Ben. I know you’re in!” 

Ben laughed, shaking his head and waving a hand. 

“I’ll judge,” he offered. 

“Atta boy, we got one! Drunk kitchen, whose in!” Richie said, pointing at everyone else. 

“Drunk kitchen!” Beverly agreed, throwing her arms in the air. 

“Two down, one to go! We need a third! Stan?” 

Stan smiled, but shook his head. 

“Haven’t been introduced yet… I should probably wait for my debut episode,” Stan said. 

“Boo, you whore,” Richie said, blowing a raspberry in Stan’s direction, earning him a stern middle finger in return. 

Richie turned to Eddie, arms outstretched. 

“It’s all on you, Eddie Pas-getti. What’sit gonna be?” Richie asked. 

“I’m going to kick your fucking ass!” Eddie said, burning with drunken determination. 

“Drunk kitchen!!” Richie celebrated, throwing his arms up and letting out a victorious whoop. “To the red line!” 

Everyone else cheered as well, before starting to walk to the nearest subway station. Only Eddie lagged behind, frowning deeply. 

Richie stayed behind as well, bending down to look closer at him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re bailing on drunk kitchen,” Richie said. 

“... I don’t ride the subway,” Eddie said. 

“What. Like, ever?” 

Eddie shook his head. 

“Do you know how many times they clean the cars? Once a day, after service shuts down. _If_ they have time to get to it. Those things are basically a sardine can full of bacteria and viruses. I’ll just get a cab-” 

“Ah, comon. We’re all going together, it’ll be fun!” Richie said, slinging an arm over Eddie’s shoulders, starting to lead him off down the sidewalk with the rest of the group. “You’ve got to expand your horizons, my boy! You don’t have to touch anything if you don’t want. I’ll hold you. Like a baby.” 

“If you try, I will snap your dick off.” 

Later, when everyone piled into the subway car, Richie held onto the support beam off to the side, and Eddie held onto Richie, scarf pulled tightly over the lower half of his face to block his mouth and nose. 

\- - - - - - - -

DRUNK KITCHEN

Uploaded by: Prospect Test Kitchen. 

Description: 3 incredibly inebriated chefs go head to head to answer the ultimate question. Whose got the best soup?

[Beverly, Eddie, and Richie are all standing behind a kitchen counter. There are several bottles of alcohol on the table in front of them, along with a messy collection of pots, pans, and random ingredients. Beverly opens her mouth to say something, but laughs before she can get anything out.] 

BEV

F**k, how do I introduce this video?? 

[Richie slams his hands down on the counter] 

RICHIE

Welcome to Drunk Kitchen! 

BEV

Drunk Kitchen!!! 

[Bev picks up a pan and hits a metal spoon against the back of it, while the rest of the room begins to cheer and clap. Eddie is already hyper focused on the table in front of him trying to plan a course of action for his meal, or trying his hardest to stay standing up straight. It’s hard to tell.] 

BEV 

Today I’m here with Richie and Eddie and… we’re very drunk! And we’re going to have a soup making contest! Ben is going to judge… say hi, Ben! 

[The camera moves, swinging to the side to show Ben. He is sitting on a stool, and gives a friendly wave to the camera] 

BEN

Hi, Ben. 

[the camera swings back around to the three competing chefs] 

BEV

Bill’s got the timer, we have one hour to prepare and cook our soup. First and second place are taking body shots off of last place-

EDDIE

I did NOT agree to that!

BEV

Okay Three-two-one go!!!! 

[The kitchen erupts into chaos as everyone starts grabbing at bowls and ingredients.] 

[FAST FORWARD] 

[Bev is in the middle of cutting up chicken for a classic chicken noodle soup. Eddie is being a bit more ambitious and trying to create a lobster bisque. Richie has completely given up on having a game plan. He is throwing in whatever catches his eye, creating a recipe as he goes along. 

Eddie is trying to explain what he is doing to the camera] 

EDDIE

Nobody f**king knows the right way to crack a lobster. Not even f**king Boston knows how to crack a lobster. Amateurs. You see this right here? Take that part and - YEAH. Right down the middle! F**k you! 

[While Eddie is absorbed in his lobster dissection, Richie has started to steal ingredients from Eddie’s side of the table. Slowing sliding them over in front of himself, and replacing the packages with things that definitely do not belong in a lobster bisque. He is far more focused on sabotaging Eddie at this point than he is working on his own preparations.] 

EDDIE

Eat sh*t, lobsters! 

[Eddie puts the claw meat from the lobster in a small glass bowl off to the side. Richie immediately sneaks it away once Eddie’s eyes are off of it.] 

[FAST FORWARD] 

EDDIE

GIVE IT BACK! 

[Eddie is standing on top of a milk crate, shouting down at Richie, who is doubled over laughing.] 

RICHIE

I-.. I don’t know what you’re talking about!!! 

EDDIE

Yes you f**king do! There’s lobster chunks floating in your broth! Where did you put the rest of it!? 

RICHIE

It’s in your bowl! 

EDDIE

NO, it _was_ in my bowl, and now my bowl is filled with Swedish fish! Give it back!!! 

[Bev can be seen in the background, sneaking something into Eddie’s abandoned pot of fish broth, before innocently walking back to her own work] 

[FAST FORWARD] 

[Hard cut to a man standing off to the side of the room. He is unaware that there is a microphone over there, and that his conversation is getting picked up by the camera. 

STAN

Heeeeeeey honey-bunches. And how is my favorite lady doing tonight? 

BEV

[offscreen, in a hushed tone] That’s Stan Uris. We haven’t introduced him yet, but you’re going to meet him in the next video. He’s [pause for a giggle fit while she shooshes someone else] - he’s calling his wife right now. 

STAN

I’m good! I’m having a really good time with everyone. I’m…. a bit inebriated right now. Very, actually. 

[Stan laughs, leaning against a wall] 

STAN

You don’t have to stay up waiting for me, I’ll be back soon….. No I-... I know you said I can stay out as late as I want but you are _really_ pretty and I miss you. I want to go home soon. 

[Stan pauses for a few moments, listening, before he frowns a bit. His face screws up with emotion, and he holds a hand in front of his eyes] 

EDDIE

[offscreen, genuinely concerned] Is he ok?? Maybe we shouldn’t be watching this… 

STAN

[obviously crying a bit] I just…. Love you so much… 

[Everyone in the room starts laughing wildly. Stan says something into the phone, before lowering it and covering the speaker with his chest, flipping off the rest of the room. The middle finger is censored by a bunch of cartoon hearts] 

STAN

F**K OFF, ALL OF YOU! 

[FAST FORWARD] 

RICHIE

Hey, Eds. Pass some of that Come-in over here. 

EDDIE

… the what now? 

RICHIE

The Comein. On your left, pass it. 

EDDIE

The _Cumin_??? 

RICHIE

That’s what I said. 

EDDIE

No, you _know_ you’re saying it wrong! 

BEV

Eddie, he’s just trying to rattle you. Ignore him! 

EDDIE

No! I’m not just going to let him- … I’m not passing it to you until you say it right! Que. Min. Cumin. Say it. 

RICHIE

Comin. 

EDDIE

 _Cu_ min. 

RICHIE

Give me some comin, Eddie. 

EDDIE

Say it right or I will literally start slapping you. 

RICHIE

I need the Comin, Eds. 

EDDIE

Do you want to f**king go right now, bro?!

RICHIE

… Comin. 

EDDIE

THAT’S IT! 

[Eddie whips off his apron, and starts to pull his shirt off as well in a fit of passionate drunk rage. The camera swings to Bev, holding a hand in front of her mouth, laughing but slightly mortified at how quickly the video is going downhill.]

[Hard cut to the floor of the kitchen. Eddie and Richie are wrestling. Richie’s glasses have been knocked off. Eddie is trying to push Richie’s face into the floor, and Richie is trying to elbow Eddie off of him to gain the upper hand again. Eddie’s shirt and apron are missing, nowhere in sight. Mike has edited in someone's theme music from Wrestlemania.

Everyone in the room is shouting encouragement for either Richie or Eddie.] 

MIKE

[Offscreen] 20 bucks on Eddie! 

BEV

[Offscreen] No fair! I want to bet on Eddie! 

[Richie manages to hook a leg around Eddie, flipping both of them over. Eddie flails, hooking an arm around Richie’s neck like he’s about to put him in a choke hold.] 

STAN

[Offscreen] GRAB HIS D*CK AND TWIST IT! 

BILL

[Offscreen, laughing] The ole d*ck twist!!! 

STAN

[Offscreen] TWIST THAT D*CK!!!! 

[Richie attempts to give Eddie a wedgie, and Eddie starts screaming] 

[FAST FORWARD] 

[All of the chefs have finished their soups. They are all standing in front of their bowls, presenting them for Ben. Eddie’s shirt is still missing, but he is wearing his apron again.] 

BEV

Darling, dearest Ben… for you, I have made a classic. Chicken noodle! It has noodles, and it has chicken, and it has everything a soup needs. 

[Bev bows, and Ben smiles as he accepts the bowl, and tastes it. He seems very pleased, going in for a second bite after.] 

BEN

I’m going to need some of this tomorrow morning when the hangover hits. This is really good, Bev. 

[Bev smiles and bows] 

BEV

Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week! 

RICHIE

Ben. 

BEN

Yes, Richie. 

RICHIE

Love of my life. 

BEN

That’s very generous of you. 

RICHIE

Angel Face. 

BEN

You’re laying it on pretty thick now. 

RICHIE

Lord of Thunder. 

BEN

I guess? 

RICHIE

Master of my C*ck. 

BEN

Oh no. 

EDDIE

Shut-the-fuck-up-dude! 

RICHIE

For years this soup has been prophesied. The Lord said he would one day give us the perfect soup, to make up for all the sh*t he’s put us through. That day has finally come. I give you a soup that is too powerful to be named. A dish so good, SO mouth-watering, that it has not been allowed to be witnessed until this very moment. I present to you: …. Whatever the f*ck this is. 

[Richie gives Ben a bowl of mystery soup. It has several food items floating in it. It does not look dangerous, but truly cannot be named or described by any mortal being. It is simply: soup. Ben looks through it with his spoon, before bravely taking a spoon full of it. He pauses for a while, taking some time to try to figure out what he’s eating.] 

BEN

It’s… 

RICHIE

Yes??? Incredible? Life-changing? 

BEN

It’s a lot. 

RICHIE

Yes. But is it _bad_? 

BEN

It’s not good? 

RICHIE

But is it. _Bad_. 

BEN

… I guess not? 

[Richie throws his arms into the air, letting out a whoop of victory] 

RICHIE

Not bad!!! 

EDDIE

Step aside, turd-breath. I’ll show you what a real chef can do. 

[Eddie nudges Richie out of the way, putting his own bowl down in front of Ben.] 

EDDIE

Get ready to feel real f*cking inadequate! This was my f*cking senior thesis back in college. I have _perfected_ lobster bisque. This is the best sh*t you can get! 

[Ben seems excited to try the soup. He picks up a spoonful, eats it, and then immediately spits it back out with a horrified look on his face. 

BEN

Oh god- 

[Eddie looks equally as horrified, and then furious.] 

EDDIE

You didn’t even try it! Put it back in your mouth! 

BEN

I didn’t have to. That was… christ. That was worse than Richie’s. 

EDDIE

WHAT THE ACTUAL F*CK, BEN?! 

BEN

I’m sorry! I can’t. I can’t do it. It’s… why is it so spicy?? 

EDDIE

It’s not spicy! What are you talking about?! 

RICHIE

Well, well, well! Would you look at that! 

[Bev has moved over to look at the bisque, frowning] 

BEV

Oh, honey. This is no good. The cream is separating from the broth… 

RICHIE

BIG mister big-shot chef over here made a sh*tty soup! 

EDDIE

Shut up! Shut up! This is all your fault, you distracted me! 

RICHIE

Extra, extra! Read all about it! Mister Big in the Pants doesn’t know how to make soup! 

EDDIE

YOU TOOK MY LOBSTER! 

RICHIE

Send this one back to the academy, boys! We’ve got an amateur! 

EDDIE

STOP!!!!! 

[Richie backs away from Eddie, continuing his harassment, as Eddie follows off after him offscreen. Their yelling can be heard continuously in the background.]

BEV

I think that means I win! 

[Bev leans down, and kisses Ben loudly on the cheek. He flushes visibly, but smiles] 

BEV

Thank you Ben for telling me that I am the best. 

[Ben mumbles something that can not be picked up by the microphones. Bev laughs happily, before turning back to the camera.] 

BEV

That’s all the time we have tonight! Thank you for joining us on… whatever kitchen this is… I’m Beverly Marsh, and-

[Bev is interrupted by the sound of something crashing loudly in the background, and yelling intensifies] 

BEV

Oh no. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The group stayed together for another hour after filming. Richie and Beverly got their celebratory body shots off screen, somehow able to convince an unreasonably drunk Eddie to participate. 

Finally, boozed out for the night, everyone gathered in the common room before they planned to go their separate ways in their separate ubers back home. Some of them managed to keep upright in a chair or on a couch, but most of them were either lying on the floor or leaned up heavily against something. 

They were discussing whatever came to mind, laughing over random jokes, and generally enjoying their last few moments together. 

“You know…” Stan mused, laying on his side in an attempt to get the room around him to stop spinning. “I’m glad I’m working here now. You guys are pretty cool.” 

“No we’re not,” Eddie said, lying on his back on the floor with his feet kicked up on the arm of the couch. 

“Whaaat? We’re cool,” Bill argued, struggling with a glass of water. 

“Fuck no. You kidding me?” Richie asked. “We’re all losers. I’m a college drop out, Stan’s a nervous wreck, Bill stutters like fucking crazy any time a camera’s on him. Mike’s a nerd. No offense Mike.” 

“None taken. S’true,” Mike slurred out. “Books, man.” 

“Books,” Richie agreed. “And Eddie’s a dumpster fire who can’t go two seconds without cleaning something.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie snapped. 

“I used to be fat,” Ben revealed. Some of the room turned to look at him. 

“That doesn’t make you a loser,” Bev said to him, softly. 

“I know… but it meant I wasn’t cool growing up. So I never really learned how to talk to people,” said Ben. 

“I got picked on a lot too in high school,” Bev responded, sliding her fingertips over the surface of the carpet. “Plus, I got into a lot of trouble. Getting caught smoking, skipping school… I never really fit in.” 

“We are the grand council of freaks. The league of dweebs,” said Richie, with great pride. 

“The Loser Test Kitchen,” Bill said, with a fond smile. 

Everyone was silent for a moment. 

“.... What if that was our new brand? Loser Test Kitchen?” 

“Our recipes might not always be perfect, but they’re got a lot of heart~” Bev said, her smile growing by the second. “I like it!” 

Everyone raised their voices to announce their support for the new name. Eddie stared up at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest. 

He really had always been a Loser. 

He never had any friends in school. He always worked himself too hard to connect with others, and even on the few times he tried, no one could mesh with his difficult personality. 

He was a basket-case. One wrong slip from spiraling out of control at all times. He was anxious, and angry, and self-righteous, and cowardly. He was fired from one of the highest paying jobs in New York because of a hissy-fit. 

He had been convinced up until very recently that his marriage was perfectly average, but was starting to see it for what it was. Barely held together by temporary solutions, and a crushing co-dependency that was eating him from the inside out. 

But somehow he had managed to stumble into a group of people who were just as broken as he was. People who wanted to keep him around for some reason, no matter how many times he raised his voice around them or lost his composure. 

Bill turned to Eddie, addressing him directly. 

“Well, Ed? What do you think?” 

Eddie stayed silent for a few moments longer, before he answered decidedly. 

“Yeah. Fuck it, let’s be losers.” 


	3. Appetizer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie decide to try out the Ratatouille Challenge! Man on Man action at its finest, and most chaotic. 
> 
> Meanwhile, things aren't going so great between Eddie and Myra. Eddie builds up the courage to ask something he's never had the heart to say. 
> 
> After a pep talk from Richie, Eddie tries something new in the kitchen. Will his attempts end in disaster? Or is he capable of more than he thought he could do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCIENCE FICTION, OOOOOOOOO, DOUBLE FEATURE 
> 
> This chapter's got TWO loser test kitchen video clips in it! 
> 
> Get ready for some BIG divorce drama going down in this episode. This is pretty much the turning point before things reach their conclusion with Eddie's marriage. The wheels are turning and there is NO going back, no sir. 
> 
> P.S. if you want the app Richie and Eddie are playing in this chapter, it's called Gamepigeon. Download it. My little sister has kicked my ass so many times in text-beer-pong but I still love and appreciate it. 
> 
> P.P.S. Eddie's Gourmet Upgrades is obviously based strong off of Clarie's Gourmet Makes in the BA test kitchen. She wasn't able to make it work for her so I'm sure its impossible in real life, but I made it work for Eddie because he DESERVES A WIN. 
> 
> Thanks for reading along and enjoying! :] Get ready for that E-rating to start dropping in the next chapter. Things about about to get SPICEY.

**RATATOUILLE CHALLENGE**

Uploaded by: Loser Test Kitchen

Description: The internet’s favorite dynamic duo is back, and together they’re going to reach new heights. Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier try to recreate beloved Pixar film’s Ratatouille in the test kitchen. 

[Richie Tozier stands behind a counter in the test kitchen. He has someone sitting on his shoulders, but their face and upper body is out of frame] 

RICHIE

Hello. My name is Alfredo Linguini. 

[Richie heavily pats the knees of the man on his shoulders] 

RICHIE

And this is Remy the rat. 

EDDIE

[OFFSCREEN] I hate you. 

RICHIE

And welcome to the ‘Ratatouille Challenge’. 

[Camera pans out, showing the full scene. Richie standing in the kitchen, with Eddie Kaspbrak sitting on his shoulders, legs wrapped firmly around Richie so he doesn’t fall] 

RICHIE

Today we are going to answer the question: ‘Can a rat teach a man to cook?’ 

EDDIE

I have no idea why I let you talk me into this. 

RICHIE

We’re working together in order to complete another classic french dish. In the style of Ratatouille, Eddie will not be able to tell me what to do. I’m sure he’ll still say whatever he wants to, but he can only direct where my hands go via hair-pulling. And I’m an absolute  _ freak _ in the sack, so my engines are revved up and ready to go. 

[Eddie lightly smacks Richie on the cheek] 

RICHIE

Ow. 

EDDIE

You are completely defenseless against my wrath right now, Tozier. Do not tempt me. 

RICHIE

Mike, please add in this disclaimer in red font down below. [DISCLAIMER voice, as disclaimer text appears on screen] ] Warning. Rats are small, but can be incredibly aggressive when provoked. If you happen to have one on top of you, try not to invoke its wrath. You must give it many compliments, behave courteously, and feed it organic granola bars. 

EDDIE 

[suppressing laughter] You are so f**king stupid. Can we get this over with? 

RICHIE

Before we begin, quick question. When you’re digging around up there, can you avoid the front of my head? I have a rapidly decreasing hairline and I’d like to keep it around as long as possible. 

EDDIE 

Oh, I’m sorry, is that weakness I smell?? Keep sh*t talking me and I’ll make sure you’re completely bald by the end of the video. 

RICHIE

Eh. I’d probably have a better hairline with a toupee anyway. Worth the risk. Oh! And before I forget. Mike, hit them with the second disclaimer. [back to disclaimer voice] Edward Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier will be taking multiple non-conjoined-megaperson breaks during the filming of this episode. Because both of them are 40 year old men, and this recipe takes two hours to make, and no joke is worth throwing your back out for. 

[Richie lets go of Eddie’s legs, and holds his hands out over the table.]

RICHIE

Ready anytime you are, Spagheddios. 

[Eddie grabs two handfuls of Richie’s hair towards the back of his head, pulling tightly. Hands flailing, Richie lets out a startled choking noise, almost stumbling backwards before he catches himself. Eddie does not seem to be phased by almost falling, pleased at his act of rebellion.] 

EDDIE 

Just testing the equipment, making sure it works. Did you feel that? 

RICHIE

[Laughing, face slightly flushed] You little sh*t. Read ya loud and clear, captain. Has your thirst for vengeance been satisfied? 

EDDIE

For now. So to begin, some of the work has already been done and prepared for us. We roasted some bell peppers in the oven, for twenty minutes at 180 degrees Celsius. 350 in Fahrenheit. We also placed four tomatoes in boiling water for 10 minutes, to make removing the skins easier when we prepare the crushed tomatoes for our sauce base. Before we start on that sauce base, we are going to prepare the sliced vegetables for the top of the dish. 

[Camera pans over table, displaying the vegetables] 

EDDIE 

In today’s recipe, we will be using eggplant, roma tomatoes, squash, and zucchini. Richie is going to start by picking up the zucchini… 

[Eddie curls his fingers back into Richie’s hair, softer this time. He tugs on a tuft lightly, signaling Richie to move one of his hands over until it's on top of one of the zucchinis.] 

EDDIE

How do I tell your hand to go down and pick it up? 

RICHIE

I don’t know. Push down on my head or something? 

[Eddie presses his fingers down against Richie’s scalp, and Richie picks up the zucchini. Eddie tugs again, getting Richie to drop it down onto the cutting board in front of him. Eddie pulls on the other side of his head now, until Richie’s right hand is hovering over one of the knives] 

RICHIE

Now might be a great time to tell you I’m left handed. 

EDDIE 

Oh sh*t. Really? 

RICHIE

Only one way to find out for sure. 

EDDIE 

F**k off. 

[Eddie gets Richie to pick up the knife with his left hand] 

EDDIE 

First, we need to cut the ends off of the zucchini. Then, we cut the rest into thin slices. You want the rounds to be as close to 1 mm as possible. 

[They struggle at first, but the two of them eventually settle into a rhythm together] 

RICHIE

Hey, Eds? 

EDDIE 

What, Richard. 

RICHIE

What’s it like, finally being tall? 

EDDIE 

Terrible. I feel like I’m two seconds from walking face-first into a cobweb or hitting my head on something. 

RICHIE

Well you’re definitely hitting your head on something. The back of my neck is going to be bruised to hell tomor-OH God. 

[Eddie yanks harshly on Richie’s hair again. Richie lets out a pained(?) groan] 

RICHIE

I’ve made a huge mistake. 

EDDIE

You have. 

RICHIE

This video is backfiring on me. 

EDDIE 

Good! You deserve it. 

[FAST FORWARD. Richie and Eddie have chopped their vegetables, peeled the tomatoes and roasted peppers, and have started to add their sauce base ingredients into the pot.] 

EDDIE

After you saute the onion, carrot, clarified butter, and celery stalk together, it’s time to add the tomatoes we just blended off to the side. 

[Eddie gets Richie to lift the tomatoes, slowly pouring it into the bowl. They add two bay leaves to the top of it, before Richie picks up a wooden spoon] 

EDDIE 

While slowly mixing, add your roasted pepper, one tablespoon of herbs de provence, two cloves of garlic, two ounces of chili pepper. 

[Eddie moves one of his hands in slow circles on the top of Richie’s head, to control the speed and movement of his stirring. Richie is silent for a lot longer than he usually is in videos, only offering up a small hum after a good thirty seconds of silence.]

EDDIE 

What’s wrong, trashmouth? I haven’t heard you complain for a while. 

RICHIE

No complaints from me, this is way nicer than the pulling. Like a mother cat, comforting her young. 

EDDIE 

Gross. Just admit you ran out of comebacks. 

RICHIE

If you want my come back, you’re going to have to siphon it out of your mot- 

EDDIE 

I’ve changed my mind, I want you to stop talking again. 

[FAST FORWARD. 

Hard cut to a half hour later. The camera is no longer next to Richie and Eddie, but filming them from a far distance across the room. Eddie is still sitting on top of Richie’s shoulders, hand moving slow circles through his hair while they stir the pot together.] 

BEV

[Offscreen, in a hushed tone] You did tell them they could take a break, right? 

BILL 

[Also offscreen and hushed, being picked up by Bev’s microphone] Yeah? The sauce is supposed to simmer for an hour. Eddie said it had to be stirred briefly every ten minutes but I told him we could do that off camera. 

[Mike has edited in soft romantic italian music in the background, as the camera slowly zooms in on Richie and Eddie’s backs] 

BEV 

Should we say something? 

BILL

Hell no, this is the quietest I’ve ever seen them. Let’s just… check back in 30 minutes. 

[The camera picks up Eddie’s shoulders shaking, laughing about something Richie said. A small cartoon rat-cupid flies in from the corner of the screen, hitting Eddie in the shoulder with an arrow. Pink text appears at the bottom of the screen surrounded by hearts. It says “Bromance”.] 

[FAST FORWARD. The dish is complete, and Eddie has walked Richie through plating it] 

RICHIE

And… voila! Ladies and gentlemen, we have the perfect tag-team Ratatouille! 

EDDIE

It… actually doesn’t look half bad. We  _ still _ have to taste it of course. But on presentation alone, we’d get a passing grade on this. Barely passing. Solid C. 

RICHIE

[pats Eddie’s thighs] I love it when you flatter me. Makes me weak in the knees! … Speaking of which, might be a good time for you to hop down. 

EDDIE

Oh! Sh*t, right. You just, ah… maybe if I move back- do we need a step ladder? 

RICHIE

No, no. I got it. 

[Richie braces his hand on the side of the counter, slowly lowering himself to his knees to get Eddie closer to the ground. Eddie unwraps his legs from Richie’s torso, also using the counter to slide off of him] 

EDDIE 

Got it! Do you need help up? Or- 

RICHIE

Naw, I’m good.

[Richie starts to stand back up to full height on his own] 

RICHIE

You know, we don’t make a bad team! You’re a pretty good t-HRK 

[Just before Richie gets back up to his full height, he bends back down. His forehead presses down onto Eddie’s shoulder, both of his hands bracing Eddie’s sides. Eddie jumps a bit at first, confused and surprised. After a few moments, he hesitantly raises his arms, and wraps them around Richie’s shoulders.] 

EDDIE 

…. Thanks, man. You’re not half bad yourself. 

[Eddie holds him there, neither focused on or remembering the camera and other people in the room. One of Eddie’s hands rubs a quick small circle on Richie’s back.] 

RICHIE

… no… 

EDDIE

… No? What do you mean, no? 

RICHIE

No I… [spoken in an incredible amount of physical anguish] I think I just threw out my back. 

EDDIE

… oh. OH. OH F**K- 

[HARD CUT. New scene. Richie is laying face down on top of a couch, face pressed into a pillow, with a few packs of ice placed on his back. Eddie is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, eating from their plate of completed Ratatouille.] 

EDDIE 

So Richie just threw his back out while trying to stand up. Which is why  _ none _ of you watching this video should try this at home. I do not want to see any videos of our fans trying to recreate this challenge. Back strain is no joke, and refusing to do the proper warm up stretches before physical exercise can result in serious injuries. 

RICHIE

[muffled by pillows] F**k off 

EDDIE 

I _ told  _ you to stretch before. Did I not tell you to stretch with me before starting? But nooooooo,  _ someone _ didn’t want to warm up properly. Which is why you’re going to be living off of anti-inflammatories and painkillers, and I’m enjoying this ratatouille all by myself. 

[Richie moves his arm to flip Eddie off. It is censored by a small surprised cartoon rat.] 

EDDIE 

So that’s it for us at the Loser Test Kitchen. Remember to take care of your body when you’re young. Because one day you’re going to get old, your body is going to start slowly breaking down one piece at a time, and it’ll take a huge team of doctors to try to keep you from falling apart. 

[Richie throws a peace sign at the camera. Eddie turns his head to speak directly to Richie] 

EDDIE

Do I need to take you to a hospital?

RICHIE

Possibly. 

\- - - - - - - 

Despite what Richie said at the end of their video, he made the final decision to not have anyone take him to the hospital. 

“I’m an actor, obviously I played up the pain for the camera. I just need to chill here for a few hours,” Richie had insisted. 

They finished filming at 8pm. 

Bev, Mike, Bill, and Eddie talked about the plan for the remainder of the night after they finished cleaning the kitchen and packing up all of the filming equipment. 

Eddie had no idea what came over him. But as soon as the opportunity came up, he volunteered. 

“The rest of you can head out. I’ll make sure he gets home safe.” 

Bill raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Really?” he asked. 

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Of course. It makes the most logical sense. All of you have to be in early tomorrow to open the kitchen, I don’t have to be in until 10. Someone has to stay with him. And I’m not going to throttle him or anything, he’s already injured.”

Eddie’s kindness was met with surprised silence. 

“What?” he asked firmly, losing his patience. 

“Nothing,” Mike replied, patting his shoulder supportively. “Thanks for helping out. We owe you one.” 

Bev made Eddie promise to text her when he and Richie made it back to their respective apartments / hotels. 

After the three of them left, Eddie moved off down the hall into Bill’s office, so he could call Myra and let her know that he had to work late. 

He knew exactly how the conversation was going to go before he opened his phone. The same way it had every other time he told her he was working late. 

She’d start by asking if he  _ had  _ to stay late, because driving through the city at night was dangerous. He’d say he had no choice, boss’s orders. She’d complain that he’s working too hard, and that getting less than 8 hours of sleep led to heart problems. Which would lead to a conversation about when his next echocardiogram was scheduled for. Which would lead to him saying that someone was calling for him and he had to go back to work. Then they’d say I love you, good night. Then he hung up. 

Then he’d stand still for a minute. In a silent room, with no one waiting for him, and ask himself when he was going to start telling Myra the truth. If he could ever tell her the truth. 

His silent contemplation only lasted a half minute this time though, because Eddie remembered that he  _ did _ currently have someone waiting for him. 

He composed himself, and walked back out of Bill’s office, back to the small common-area beyond the kitchen. 

“Did everyone else leave?” Richie asked when Eddie came back into the room. 

“Yeah. They have to get up early tomorrow. Not all of us get to live like rockstars and sleep in until noon every day,” Eddie said as he sat back down on the floor in front of the couch. 

“I knew they would betray me in my hour of need,” Richie droned out. “Bastards.” 

“Hey, I’m still here, dickbag,” Eddie snapped back. “You don’t need a full team of people to take care of you, it wouldn’t make sense for everyone to stay. I’m the only one who knows if you need to be forced to go to the hospital or not.” 

“And I am forever grateful for your endless generosity. Even if you broke my back.” 

“I didn’t do anything! It was your idea for the video! Also, reminder,  _ you _ didn’t throw your back out until after I was off of you. I knew this was going to happen. I told you we needed to stretch out thirty minutes before we started filming, and we had to take 10 minute stretching breaks at least every half hour, but you barely tried the forward fold and then gave up on the rest of it. Now whether or not you go to a hospital tonight you’re going to have to see a doctor to make sure you don’t have a herniated disk, and you’ll probably need a prescription painkiller, and-” 

“Eeeeeeddiiieeee” Richie groaned out, long enough to get Eddie’s attention and pause him mid-rant. Richie weakly flopped his hand over onto Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s going to be fine. I’ve thrown my back out like this before, I’ll be back to my old self again in less than a week,” Richie said. 

Eddie turned his head so he could look at Richie’s face without moving the shoulder Richie’s hand rested on. 

“... Why did you agree to do that video if you know you have a history of back problems?” he asked. 

It pained Eddie to know that he was probably getting set up for a zinger from Richie. Richie wasn’t ever this nice. He  _ promised  _ to stop pretending to be nice. Eddie knew that whatever Richie was about to say was going to end with him groaning or telling Richie to shut up. 

But he still couldn’t stop himself from asking the question earnestly. We had no idea what could possibly be so important that it justified risking physical harm. 

Richie paused, contemplating his answer for a moment. 

“Well, we had fun. Right?” he finally asked, closing his eyes as if he suddenly needed rest. 

“... I guess.” 

“Then it was worth throwing my back out.” 

Richie kept his eyes closed, leaving Eddie to stare at his face. 

Richie’s glasses were set slightly askew, due to the pressure of the pillow underneath his head. Tired lines around his eyes, and thick stubble badly in need of a fresh shave. He had a smile on his face, but not the one Eddie was used to. 

Not the mischievous smile Richie had when he was up to no good. Not the gloating smile he got when he knew was beating you at something. Not that empty smile that showed up when he spoke to his manager on the phone. 

A new smile. Very small, lacking in confidence. It seemed fragile, like it could break at any second if you weren’t careful around it. 

Eddie’s fingers curled into his palms over his pants, suddenly at a loss for breath and words. 

He only managed to get out one sound. 

“... oh.” 

\- - - - - - - - - 

Richie managed to recover from the muscles he pulled in his back, as promised. And thus, the Loser Test Kitchen went on as normal. 

They were going through an incredibly successful climb up with their video statistics. 

Ben made a video about common myths surrounding ‘juicing’. The video was trending among the online health community on both youtube and twitter within 24 hours. 

Stan started his own mini series on the channel, simply called “Mixology”. It was a bit more artistic in style, incorporating a few slow-motion cameras that Mike managed to wrangle from a nearby seller. The channel brought in a whole new brand of viewers, and hiked their subscriber count up by a hundred thousand. 

Three weeks after the Ratatouille challenge, the video had reached 2 million views. 

Eddie gave Mike shit for the ‘bromance’ segment of the video. But when Mike offered to remove the segment and re-post the video, Eddie declined his offer. 

After all, Eddie reasoned, plenty of people had already seen it. The only person in the world he worried about seeing the video was Myra, but she never watched any of the videos with Richie in it. 

She didn’t like his jokes. 

He knew, because she brought it up every time they had dinner together. Any time Eddie wasn’t working late. 

“I just don’t think he’s funny,” Myra would say, gingerly straightening out something on the table. 

“He’s not. He’s just popular,” Eddie would agree. 

“He’s mean. I have no idea why people like him so much. All he does is say vulgar things and call people names. How long did you say he’s going to be working with you?” Myra would ask.

And Eddie would sit with his hands folded in his lap, staring blankly at a half-eaten chicken roast. 

“3 more months. Then he won’t be on the channel anymore,” Eddie would reply. 

“That’s good. I don’t like the idea of you having to be around him. I know you hate it, and your blood-pressure is already so high, the extra stress could really hurt you.” 

Same conversation, every night, like clockwork. 

Eddie started to ‘work late’ more often. 

Working late was never a problem for Eddie, beyond the nightly phone conversation with Myra where he informed her of his nightly plans. 

Those phone calls were starting to get harder. The frequency of his late stays in the office was clearly starting to upset her. She was getting visibly distressed by the end of the call, voice wavering on the edge of tears any time she asked how much longer his ‘important project’ that kept him late so often was going to last for. How much longer he was going to need to come home late for more than half the days out of the week. 

He had to tell her that he didn’t know. Lied through his teeth and said it was a ‘results based end date’. That they’d wrap up the project as soon as they produced the right final product. That it could take anywhere from a couple weeks to the end of the year. 

Eddie didn’t like sitting around doing nothing though, so he often found some work to complete when he used the office as his convenient excuse. 

Three weeks after the Ratatouille challenge, Eddie was on his own in the kitchen again after everyone else left for the day. 

In order to celebrate their one millionth subscriber the Losers Test Kitchen decided to do something special for their fans. Once they hit one million, they would create a tweet to announce the milestone. The first 100 replies on the tweet would receive a cupcake shipped to them, homemade from the test kitchen. 

Eddie needed something to do. So he took it upon himself to experiment with what sort of cupcake they wanted to send out. It had to be something sturdy enough to withstand getting sent through the postal system, even with specialized packaging. It had to keep for at least 2-3 business days. And it had to taste incredible. 

So Eddie got to work. He researched common ways other companies sent cupcakes in packages, and decided to test three different types of batter, with three different types of frosting. He’d send them in the mail, to himself, and see which cupcakes made it out the best. 

Eddie was in the middle of beating together the ingredients for his second cupcake when a noise beside him startled out of his concentration. 

“What’s shakin, Kevin Bacon?” said Richie, appearing out of nowhere, leaning on the counter beside Eddie. 

Eddie jumped, one hand clutching over his chest. 

“Shit!!! How the hell did you sneak up on me? You’re always so loud. What are you doing here?” Eddie asked, slowly turning off the electric mixer. 

“I could ask you the same thing. It’s 10 o’clock mister, way past your bedtime,” Richie teased. 

“I’m working. Clearly. You’re trespassing.”

“And now I’m loitering. You should call the police, someone’s gotta put me in cuffs before I start vandalizing something,” Richie replied. 

He grinned triumphantly when he got Eddie to roll his eyes and smile slightly. Richie then reached into his pocket, pulling out a wallet with a click of his tongue. 

“Left my wallet here. I came crawling back hoping someone was still in the building. Saved by the Kaspbrak,” Richie explained. 

“Cool, you’re welcome. Whatever. Now you can go back home,” Eddie retorted, checking the batter in the electric mixer now to see if he had mixed it well enough. 

“And leave my favorite guy alone?” Richie asked. 

Eddie let out a frustrated sigh, pulling the bowl from the mixer with a bit more gusto than strictly necessary. 

“I’m not your ‘favorite guy’. You just like picking on me,” Eddie said curtly. 

“You’re right. Mike’s my favorite. It's those deep, inquisitive eyes. I find myself getting lost in them,” Richie said, pulling a stool over from the side of the room, and taking a seat out of Eddie’s way. “But you’re a strong second contender.” 

Eddie felt the tips of his ears get hot, but he brushed it off. He couldn’t let Richie see his words getting under Eddie’s skin. 

“And you’re a strong first contender for pain in my ass. If you keep talking to me you’re going to distract me, and it's going to take longer to get through this,” Eddie said. 

Richie leaned to the side so he could see around Eddie, inspecting his work station. 

“What is… _this_ , anyway?” 

“I’m testing out cupcakes for the millionth subscriber give-away. I’m baking all of them all tonight so they can cool down by morning. Then we can frost them tomorrow,” Eddie explained. 

“And you need to do all of this… now?” Richie asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well… yeah. I mean, we’re coming up on the millionth subscriber soon. Maybe within the next few weeks. So… I have to test these out as soon as possible,” Eddie said. 

They both knew that cupcakes didn’t need to cool off for that long before frosting them. Eddie would have been able to bake them first thing in the morning, and they’d be cool enough to frost within half an hour. There was no reason why Eddie had to stay late. But he couldn’t come up with any other reasonable excuse. 

Eddie’s shoulders were building more tension by the second, knowing he was found out. 

But the tension snapped when Richie spoke up again. 

“Makes sense to me,” he said, nonchalantly. “Need any help?”

Richie knew that the explanation Eddie had provided was an excuse. But if there was one thing Richie was deeply familiar with, it was offering shitty excuses to questions when you didn’t want to talk about it. 

Eddie needed an out, and Richie was willing to give it to him. 

Eddie relaxed again, pulling over a cupcake tray with liners already inserted into them. 

“No, I’d rather do this on my own. It’s an experiment, so it needs consistency,” he said. “... but you can stick around. If you want.” 

“Moral support it is,” said Richie. 

So he sat off to the side, and the two of them talked with one another while Eddie poured the cupcakes, and got started on the third batch. 

\- - - - - - 

A half hour later, all of the cupcakes were in the oven. So they had another half hour, with nothing to do. 

Both of them ended up sitting on the kitchen floor, with their backs against the cabinets. 

Richie had told Eddie about an app he could download on his phone, that would allow you to play two-player games over text messages. So Eddie had downloaded it, and the two of them played pool on their phones while they talked to one another about everyone’s videos. 

“So. Bev’s got ‘Cooking with Dog’ to episode 3. Ben’s got his whole running series on health food myths. Stan’s got ‘Mixology’  _ and _ ‘Franken-pastires’. I’ve got ‘Richie eats everything on the menu’. What’s up next for you?” Richie asked, lining up a shot and managing to knock one of Eddie’s striped balls to an inconvenient location on the board. 

Eddie scowled when he received Richie’s move, having to try to pocket a different ball. 

“What do you mean? I have a series. I demonstrate different professional cooking techniques,” he said. 

“But that’s not  _ your _ series. Everyone on this channel does cooking tutorials. You gotta get a series of your own,” Richie clarified. 

Richie flipped back to his text messages after receiving Eddie’s response, snorting out a laugh. “Nice.” 

“Shut up, I haven’t played this on a phone before,” Eddie grumbled. “... and I don’t even know what I could do for a series.”

“Well if you need some help brainstorming, you’ve come to the right guy,” Richie said in a sing-song voice. “Let’s get cracking. What if… oh shit I’ve got it. Ok so, first step we blindfold you.” 

“I already don’t like where this is going,” Eddie responded. 

“Stay with me, Eds. So we blindfold you, and put a plate of food in front of you. Some fancy shit from a famous chef, whatever you can actually eat without inflating like a balloon. We give you 72 hours to recreate that dish based on taste and touch alone. That’d be some tight shit!” Richie said. 

Eddie frowned deeply. 

“... It’s not a bad idea. But… I don’t know. That sounds more up Bev’s alley.” 

“All right, no problem-o. What about trying to gourmet-a-fy some basic unhealthy shit? Like, you take a twinkie, and try to make a 5-star Kaspbrak approved version of it. That’s your up alley and your entire apartment complex,” Richie suggested. 

Eddie shook his head, hands gripping tightly onto his phone. 

“It’s  _ not _ . Again, it’s not a bad idea. You should pitch it in the next channel meeting. But I wouldn’t be able to get results from it. I’d fuck it up,” Eddie explained. 

“Are you kidding me?” Richie asked, looking away from his phone to give Eddie an incredulous look. “Dude, you’re like. The most talented chef I’ve ever met. You could start your own cooking empire if you wanted to.” 

Eddie kept his eyes glued to his phone, using the pool game as an excuse to not meet Richie’s gaze. 

“I’m only good when I’m working with a recipe. Sometimes I can improve on a recipe and change the amounts around to make it better but I… I can’t come up with anything on my own. It would be a disaster,” he said. 

“Bullshit,” Richie said. 

Eddie turned to look at him now, so he could give him a proper indignant glare. 

“Fuck you,” said Eddie. 

“Could you take the freaking compliment, dude? I’m serious. Have you even tried cooking without a recipe before?” Richie asked. 

Eddie thought about it for a moment. The closest he had ever gotten to that was making dinner for himself and Myra, but only because he had already had the recipes memorized. 

“... no.” 

“Then how do you know you can’t? What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“I become the laughing stock of the internet because everyone who’s ever worked with me watches it and thinks I’ve been a hack this whole time, I get fired from the test kitchen for ruining our reputation, and I have to move to Alaska to avoid all human contact for the rest of my life.” 

Richie sighed, putting his phone down in his lap. 

“Okay. One, nothing you say or do would ever get you fired from here. Bill would have Ben seal you into the walls ‘Cask of Amontillado’ style before he let you leave. Two, you would never survive in Alaska. You have two percent body fat, tops. You’d become an Edd-sicle the second you step off the plane,” Richie said, counting off points with his fingers as he went. 

“And Three, who fucking cares what anyone else thinks?” 

“The success of our channel is literally based on what people think,” Eddie argued. 

“Yeah, well fuck ‘em. And if we’re talking numbers, some of the most popular videos online are just people failing miserably at something. That shit sells. It makes people feel validated, no one wants to see someone do everything perfectly all the time. It’s about the struggle,” said Richie. 

Eddie, no longer getting replies from Richie from their pool game, finally put his phone down. He shifted himself on the floor so he could fully face the other man. 

“It’s not that easy!” Eddie said, growing frustrated. “I’m not like you!! You don’t  _ have _ to care about what anyone thinks about you. You’re _ fun _ . People like you no matter what you do. You don’t have to put any effort into anything because everything just works out for you.” 

“Are you complimenting me or insulting me right now? I’m having trouble following along with this” Richie responded dryly. 

“Shut up, you’re not listening. I’m getting to the point, wait until I get to the actual point I’m trying to make,” Eddie snapped back, taking in a deep breath to re-center his line of thinking. “Yeah, you’re obnoxious. And you say inappropriate shit all the time. But people still _ like _ you. Because deep down, underneath all of that bullshit, you’re actually a decent person. You don’t have to hide anything about yourself. You don’t understand what it’s like to have to wake up every day and spend all your energy trying to blend in with other people.” 

It took all of Richie’s self-restraint to not throw his head back and start laughing maniacally. Or cry. Perhaps both. He decided to do what always worked in situations like these, push away the guilt and shame gnawing its way inside him down with humor. 

“Eddie my man, if you could see the demons I’ve got hiding out in this beat-up tin can you’d go screaming for the hills,” Richie said. 

“Oh yeah. I’m sure you pissed your bed until you were 14. Horrifying,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. 

The conversation was starting to veer a bit too far into Richie’s lane. Too close to that raw piece of himself that wasn’t fit for human consumption. So Richie re-directed the conversation back to Eddie’s original point. 

“... You’re good too, you know,” Richie said. 

“No I’m not,” Eddie responded right away. He hung his head down slightly, focusing on a tile on the floor. “... I try to be. I know it doesn’t seem like it. And that’s how I know I’m not a good person. Not really.” 

Eddie started to fidget with the end of the string on his apron, throat constricting as he spoke quietly. He knew he was already over-sharing. Any second, Richie was going to cut in and tell him to lighten up. And he would. Eddie would shut everything down the second Richie tried to change topics. 

But Richie didn’t say anything. So Eddie continued. 

“Because good people don’t have to try to be good. They just  _ are _ . I know I suck, and that’s me at my  _ best _ . If I didn’t actually try to contain things, if I just… let it all go, like you said. If I actually acted how I wanted to… I don’t know. I’d probably be in prison or something.” 

It was hard to talk about. For once, it was hard to keep the volume of his voice up loud enough for Richie to hear. Because he’d never actually said any of this out loud before. Not even to Myra. 

“One time, I slipped up. One time, in my whole life. And someone got hurt because of it,” he said, bringing up the incident at La MaÎtrise. “I put someone in the fucking hospital, because I actually did something I wanted to do instead of behaving like an adult in the situation. He was…. Fuck, Richie. He was just a kid. He wasn’t even  _ wrong _ . He just called me out on my bullshit, and I should have handled it. It was my job to handle it. And I didn’t.” 

Eddie felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he held them back. Old Kaspbrak childhood classic maneuver. Think about your mother. Mommy doesn’t want to see you cry, it’ll make her upset. He let out a shuddering sigh, and continued. 

“So, no. I can’t just let everything go and try whatever I want to do. I can’t  _ trust _ what I want. The only good thing I want is… I want people to like me. I really, _ really  _ want people to like me. I can’t just say ‘fuck what everyone else thinks’. Because if I do that, and I stop trying to make an effort to be a version of myself that people can stomach, I’m going to... “ 

Eddie trailed off, and thought silently to himself ‘ _ I’m going to end up alone _ ’. 

Richie stared at Eddie, and his heart hurt. So badly. 

It hurt to think about all of the people who had ever told Eddie that he wasn’t good enough. Who snuffed out and smothered the fire inside of him that made Eddie better and more interesting than anyone else on the planet. 

It hurt to think about how familiar Eddie’s concerns were. How Richie also desperately wanted people to like him, and managed to fuck that up almost every time. How Richie shared the same pain of having to contain and compartmentalize what he really wanted. Because it felt like poison. Infectious. Disgusting. 

And how Richie couldn’t even bring himself to return Eddie’s vulnerability. 

He couldn’t reach out and say ‘Hey, you’re not alone. I’ve been gay my whole life, and I’ve never had a boyfriend because I don’t want him to end up getting dragged behind a pickup truck and left for dead in a ditch for the crime of loving me.’ 

But he could do the next best thing. 

“Hey. Eddie, look at me.” Richie said. 

Eddie didn’t at first. So Richie turned his body as well, reaching out. He almost put his hand on top of Eddie’s, but that was too dangerous. Too intimate. So he placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. That was enough to snap him back to reality, looking up and meeting Richie’s gaze. 

“Good. Are you listening? Because what I’m about to say is very important,” Richie said. 

Eddie nodded. 

“All right. One time I broke a guy's nose in a bar because he tried to steal one of my chicken tenders.” 

Eddie went from on the verge of tears, to incredibly confused. 

“.... w… what?” 

“Headbutted him right in the face. I was plastered. Then I stuffed the rest of the chicken in my face so he couldn’t take any more of them. That was me at 25. When I was 17 I almost killed one of my friends because I pushed him off of the side of a small cliff as a joke. I thought he was going to fall into the water but he cracked his head on a rock,” Richie continued. 

Eddie paled a bit at the thought. 

“Oh my god,” he said, horrified. 

“Right?? Kind of fucked up. When I was 30, I was at a party with a bunch of comedians. I didn’t like one of them, so I threw a globe directly at his crotch. Full force. That is the  _ lowest _ , most heinous thing you can do to a man. But I did it anyway. He almost blacked out,” Richie said. He left out the fact that said ‘friend’ had made one too many jokes about Richie being gay that night, hence the need for retaliation. One or two gay jokes a night was just par for the course with comedians. 5 of them within two hours was an accusation. 

“Richie, why are you telling me all of this?” 

“Because you said I was a ‘decent’ person. But according to your definition, a good,  _ decent _ person can’t physically harm anyone else. Even on accident. Especially on purpose. So according to your reasoning, I am now an irredeemable monster,” said Richie. . 

Eddie was silent. He stared at Richie with his mouth open slightly, trying to process what he was saying. 

“You’re… not. You’re not a monster,” Eddie said. 

“Then what’s so bad about one rogue spatula hitting some asshole in the back of the head?” 

The kitchen timer went off with a loud DING in the background. Richie groaned at the timing. Of course the siren call of the oven beckoned them away the exact moment Richie was killing the pep-talk game. 

Richie gave Eddie’s shoulder a firm and final squeeze. 

“That’s nothing to need to unpack all in one night, bellboy. Let that one marinate a bit and get back to me when you’re ready to admit you deserve more than you get.” 

Richie reached up, messing up Eddie’s hair, before he stood up. His knees clicked as he rose up off of the ground, letting out a dramatic pained sound, before he put on an oven mitt and pulled the cupcake trays out of the oven to check them. 

One toothpick skewered in the center-most cupcake, pulled out clean. 

“Boom, baby! These are good to go!” Richie exclaimed, pulling all three trays out. 

While Eddie sat on the ground, staring up at Richie. Hair frazzled out of its usual neatly combed style. 

Wondering whether he was staring down the barrel end of the Devil, or God. 

\- - - - - - 

The next week, Eddie found a note in his locker. 

It read:  _ RESTAURANT NIGHTMARES. Eddie Kaspbrak visits struggling restaurants with bad reviews, insults the shit out of them, and then fixes the shit out of them. Up your alley, Y/N??  _

Eddie kept the letter for a week, then scribbled a note on it and left it in Richie’s locker for the next time he was in town. 

He circled the no, and wrote ‘ _ This seems rude _ .’ 

Another note appeared in his locker a few days after Richie returned. 

It was on a new, blank sheet of paper. It read:  _ Eddie Kaspbrak. The Rude Dude with a bad ‘tude. On brand. Talk to Bill.  _

It took two weeks for Eddie to build up the courage to bring up the idea to Bill, three weeks to find a hole-in-the-wall restaurant willing to have their failing business filmed, and one week for Eddie to get the foul smell of expired fish-paste out of his nose after filming there. 

\- - - - - - 

Eventually, Eddie came home early enough to have dinner with Myra. 

He made pork chops with carrots and toasted buckwheat, while Myra set the table. They each had one glass of white wine, and talked about each other’s days. 

“I just don’t see why people think he’s funny. He doesn’t even tell jokes, he just calls people names and makes them feel bad about themselves,” Myra said, carefully cutting into one of the pork chops. “People like him are why we need to hold celebrities accountable for their actions. If he’s on TV, children are going to watch his programs and learn from it.” 

At this point in the routine, Eddie was supposed to agree with her. 

“... he’s not that bad,” he said instead, in a meek voice. 

Myra looked up from her plate, genuinely confused. 

“He’s not? But… Eddie-bear, you always complain about him. He sounds horrible,” she said. 

“I know. That’s what he’s like most of the time. But you haven’t met him. He sounds like an ass, but sometimes he’s better than that,” Eddie tried to explain. 

Myra frowned, starting to push some food around on her plate with her fork. 

“Have you considered that he might just be manipulating you? I read about that in a magazine somewhere. Sociopaths use acts of kindness to keep people invested in them, you know.” 

Eddie couldn’t help the sting of hurt in his heart when he thought about the possibility of Myra’s theory. It felt real. Myra only read scientifically acclaimed journals, of course if she read about it somewhere it was true. Richie was a sociopath, who was using bait and switch tactics to gain Eddie’s trust because he wanted something from him. 

But then Eddie thought about Richie. The look on his face when he was lying on the couch, in agonizing pain, but still smiling. 

“Christ, Myra. He’s not a fucking sociopath-” 

“Please don’t swear at me, Eddie. You know I don’t like it,” Myra said. “I’m trying to help. I don’t want anything bad happening to you.” 

Eddie thought about the way Richie looked when he said

‘ _ Then it was worth throwing my back out _ ’. 

“... Myra. Can I ask you something?” Eddie said. 

Myra relaxed a bit, glad to divert away from where their conversation had been going. 

“Of course. What is it?” 

“Let’s say, hypothetically we’re… I don’t know, taking a walk somewhere. We’re hiking. In the woods,” he started with. 

Myra made a face. 

“We would never go hiking. There’s too many bugs.” 

“I said  _ hypothetically _ . Myra just. Please, listen to me,” said Eddie. Myra nodded, so he continued. 

“So we’re hiking, in the mountains. Which both of us know isn’t safe, but in this reality we decided to go somewhere with bugs and multiple health hazards. Because it’s so dangerous, I slip and fall over the side of a cliff,” he continued. 

Myra was already tearing up a bit, nervously fidgeting with her napkin. 

“I don’t want to think about something like that happening, Eddie. That’s horrible,” she said. 

“It’s not real life, Myra. We’re not actually there. We would never go to a place like that. It’s just a question,” Eddie tried to explain. He knew he should be trying to comfort her more, to drop the subject so it didn’t ruin her evening. 

But he was  _ so _ frustrated. 

“It doesn’t matter where I am. I could have fallen off a dock, or down an empty manhole, or literally anywhere in the world with a steep edge. If I fell off something and was holding onto the edge of it…” Eddie trailed off, taking a few calming breaths before he got to his question. 

“Would you throw your back out to save me?” 

“I… I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Myra said. She was just as upset as before, but with a layer of confusion over it. This wasn’t their normal evening dinner, she didn’t have the rehearsed lines to answer him. 

“If I was hanging off the edge of a cliff, and you knew that helping me up to safety would make you throw out your back. Would you do it?” Eddie asked. 

Myra waited for a few moments, hoping Eddie would take the silence as a non-answer and change the subject to something else. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to do that this time, she tried to answer him. 

“I don’t think that’s a fair question. You know I don’t have the strength to pull you up like that, then both of us would fall over. I think the right thing to do in that situation would be to call the police, or run back to the road to flag down a car for help,” she said. 

“So you’d just leave me there? And you don’t see a problem with that?” Eddie said, voice starting to raise just a fraction. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Myra said. Of course she was hysterical. She was allowed to be hysterical. She was allowed to raise her voice past a certain volume. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore! I just wanted to have a nice dinner with you, because you’re always working late and I never get to see you. I missed you.” 

Eddie thought about Stan, and the way he talked to his wife on the phone. How he couldn’t get through a single sentence without smiling at some point. How he held his phone like it was a baby bird, tender and protective. The way he sounded when his eyes became misty and he said ‘I miss you’. 

Myra didn’t look anything like that. Neither of them had smiled at any point during dinner. She had tears in her eyes, but there was no softness there. She was upset, and a bit angry. And she just wanted to talk about something else. 

Eddie didn’t want to talk about something else. He wanted to have this fight. He wanted himself and Myra to actually talk about what their problems were, instead of pretending like they were happy together and that nothing needed fixing. 

Eddie wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. 

But he didn’t. 

“Fine. I’m done eating anyway,” he said. He collected his plates and glasses, and excused himself from the table. 

He waited until he was in the kitchen, out of sight from the living room, before he shot back the rest of his glass of wine. He pre-washed the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher, and walked to his bedroom, down the hall from Myra’s. 

He closed the door, then walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. 

He stared at the wall ahead of him. And did nothing. 

\- - - - - - - - 

**GOURMET UPGRADE: Professional chef tries to make gourmet starbursts**

Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen

Description: Eddie Kaspbrak slowly descends into madness as he tries to create a high-class version of everyone’s favorite soft taffy. 

[We open in the Loser Test Kitchen. Eddie Kaspbrak is standing behind a counter. On the table in front of him is a large pile of starbursts candy. He anxiously drums his fingers on the table, staring at the pile in front of him.] 

EDDIE

…. This is going to suck, isn’t it. 

[INTRO MUSIC and visual montage, full of clips of some of the madness to come in the episode. After the intro we go back to Eddie, in front of his starbursts pile] 

EDDIE

Welcome to the Loser Test Kitchen. My name is Edward Kaspbrak, and today I’m going to be trying something new. This video might not even be uploaded. It could turn out terrible. But if you’re watching this now it means there was something salvageable about this video, so welcome to Gourmet Upgrade. A show where I take common brands of junk food, and try to turn them into something actually worth eating. 

[Eddie picks up a starburst, holding it up to the camera]

EDDIE

This is a starburst. It’s a fruit flavored soft taffy, and every year millions of people cram these into their bodies with no regard for how bad this sh*t is for you. Let’s go down the list. 

[Bullet points appear on screen, as Eddie begins to cover the health risks associated with starbursts] 

EDDIE

One, taffy in general is terrible for your teeth. Even a soft taffy like this will still cling to your teeth, and feed the oral bacteria there for hours after you eat it. If you have fillings or dental crowns, you are also at risk of pulling those out if you eat taffy. Two, these things are loaded with artificial dyes. Specifically Red 40, Blue 1, Yellow 5, and Yellow 6, which have a chemical in them called benzene. Benzene is a  _ known _ carcinogen. The use of Blue 1 is straight up banned in France and Finland, but the United States hasn’t passed any legislation on that. Yellow 5 and 6 have been known to cause insomnia, asthma, allergies, thyroid tumors-

[FAST FORWARD] 

EDDIE

So needless to say, I wasn’t allowed to have any of this when I was growing up. I think I might have had one in college? But I haven’t had any since then. Today I shall be putting my own health at risk by taking a bite out of one of these, so I know what flavor profile I’m trying to surpass. Mike is on standby with an epi-pen in case I go into anaphylactic shock. 

[Eddie unwraps one of the starbursts, holding it up and inspecting it] 

EDDIE

We already researched the ingredients, and we’re pretty sure I’m not allergic to anything in these. But most mass-produced candy is made in a factory with other food items, so there’s no way of telling how much cross-contamination has happened. Better safe than sorry. Here goes nothing...

[Eddie takes a small bite out of the starburst. He makes a face while chewing it slowly, arms crossed over his chest as he analyzes it.] 

EDDIE

… tastes very artificial. I’m not getting any natural flavors out of this. Pretty sure they were lying when they said they use any amount of actual fruit juice. Not as sticky as most traditional taffy is, but I can still feel that pull on my back molars. 

MIKE

[Offscreen, from behind the camera] Hey, Eddie. 

EDDIE

Yeah Mike? 

MIKE

[Offscreen] So as our audience knows, you have a big list of allergies and foods you can’t eat. 

EDDIE

That is correct. I have very rigorous dietary restrictions. 

MIKE

[Offscreen] But the audience has also seen you cook with eggs and nuts a few times. For other inspiring chefs out there who want to work with foods they might be allergic to, how do you control the taste of the food without trying any of it? 

EDDIE

That’s actually a good question! Thanks, Mike. Yes. I do regularly cook food that I can’t eat as a part of my job. But when it comes to quality testing, I’ll ask a coworker to sample it for me. I’ll be doing much of the same in this video. I’m already one bite into this and I hate it. Actually. 

[Eddie puts the starburst down] 

EDDIE

I have to go brush my teeth now. I’ll be back in a few minutes. 

[FAST FORWARD. 

Eddie has brushed his teeth, come back, and has explained the full list of ingredients to the camera. He has brought Stan in as an adviser, going over a game plan for how he wants to make starbursts into a gourmet treat. Using real fruit juice, with a small amount of organic kaspbrak-approved artificial flavor to balance out the taste. 

He’s made his first trial batch, set it in a loaf pan to let it settle into a thick sheet, and is taking it out of the pan now that it’s set. Eddie makes a displeased face as he pulls it out and places it down on the counter.] 

EDDIE

I can already tell this isn’t working. See this? 

[Eddie pokes into the taffy, leaving indentations in it] 

EDDIE

That’s way too soft. A starburst will leave an indent when you apply a large amount of pressure, but I’m barely touching this right now. 

[Eddie picks up the taffy, doing a pull-test. It stretches out between his hands. He lets out a frustrated sigh] 

EDDIE

Yeah that’s definitely not what I wanted to happen. This needs to stretch a bit, before tearing. Shouldn’t be too bad of a problem though. I’ll get the consistency on the next bath, just need to tweak a few of the proportions. More corn starch, less fat. 

[Mike has edited in a time stamp. The video is at 20 minutes, out of a total 48 minute video. Text appears, it says “Definitely getting it on the next batch”.] 

[FAST FORWARD 

Eddie has finished his next batch. He is standing at the counter, staring at the “finished product” sitting on the table. He picks it up, and lets it drop onto the counter. The sheet of “taffy” breaks in half with a loud CRACK upon impact. Stan is seen in the background of the shot, getting a bowl from one of the cabinets. He jumps and drops the bowl upon hearing the crack, silently holding a hand to his chest] 

EDDIE

Ok yeah so. That’s not it either. We’ve gone from marshmallow, to brick. F*ck. 

[Eddie rubs his hands over his face, mumbling something to himself.] 

EDDIE

It’s ok. It’s fine! No problem. Obviously the secret to this is somewhere between the first and the second batch. So I’m going to reduce the corn starch a bit, and up the fat slightly. Then we can wrap these up and call it an episode. 

[FAST FORWARD. The third batch ended up exactly the same as the first. Eddie has tried to revamp the recipe a few times. He is now on his fifth batch. He is sitting on a stool in front of the counter, his entire upper half of his body laid out on top of the counter. His face is turned to the side, staring emptily at a sheet of attempted taffy. It refuses to hold its shape. It is slowly sagging onto the counter into a taffy puddle. Dramatic, sad music plays. Bev is standing next to him, slowly rubbing his back. Ben is standing in front of the taffy, pulling up a glob of it to inspect] 

BEV

It’s okay, Eddie… 

EDDIE

Why is this happening to me. 

BEV

Nothing is happening to you, sweetie. You’re just… in the middle of the process right now. You’ll get there. 

BEN

[putting some of the taffy in his mouth, trying it] Exactly. The uh… the consistency isn’t there, but this tastes  _ really _ good. You’ve got the flavor down. 

EDDIE

It’s  _ pink _ . It’s supposed to be  _ red _ . 

BEV

Well, you’re working with all natural ingredients. It’s hard to get that deep red color without food dyes. Why don’t you call it a day, hun? We can clean up, let everything set overnight, and try again with a fresh start tomorrow? 

EDDIE

… Yeah ok. 

[Hard cut to an hour later. The kitchen is empty.] 

EDDIE

So everyone else has gone home. Mike’s gone home too. I’ve set up the camera on a tripod. I’m going to try one more batch tonight, and then I’ll check all my previous attempts tomorrow to see what one full night’s rest does to the taffy. We’re going to a slightly higher temperature for cooking the taffy, no gelatin, more cornstarch. 

[FAST FORWARD. 

Eddie has been trying to pull the taffy on a hook attached to an electric beater. The taffy has clearly set much faster than he anticipated. It is stuck to the hook, rock-solid. Eddie can be seen far off in the background, hitting his forehead over and over again against a wall. Once he gives the wall a final thunk with his head he lets it rest against the wall, and stays there.

Hard Cut to the next day. Sunlight fills the room, and everything is set up again] 

EDDIE

So that didn’t work. And none of my attempts set any better overnight.  _ Two _ of my attempts have fused together, because they were sitting too close to one another. 

[he motions towards a gigantic slab of taffy-attempt in the center of the table. It looks like he actually tried to knead the two together, to see if a mixture between the two of them would give him the right consistency. It is a mangled, tie-dye mess of taffy. Eddie takes all of his previous attempts, and puts them into a garbage can.] 

EDDIE

I honestly have no idea what to do at this point. Maybe it’s not the ingredients. … temperature? Maybe it’s the temperature. … Ok. New plan. I’m going to make three batches, back to back. Keep all the ingredients the same, but I’ll cook the sugar mixture at different temperatures. One of those has to work. It has to. I’m going to make it. It doesn’t have a choice. 

[FAST FORWARD. 

Eddie is standing in front of the stove, working on his second test batch. He is stirring the sugar mixture, frowning deeply at the pot, shaking a hand at it. He speaks directly to the pot] 

EDDIE

Whatever it is you’re doing right now? Stop. Okay? I’ve cooked you at 275 degrees before. We’ve been  _ over _ this. You’re  _ not  _ burning. So stop being f*cking temperamental, get your sh*t together, or I swear to god I’m going to-

[FAST FORWARD. 

Hard cut to after Eddie’s pulled his three batches from their loaf pans. None of Eddie’s attempts have worked. He is back to lying on top of the counter, face down this time. He is surrounded by failed taffy attempts.

Richie enters from off screen, whistling, in high spirits] 

RICHIE

Goooooood morning Vietnam! Hey man, you mind if I take some of these starbursts? We’re shooting Will it Deep Fry today, and I’m looking for test subjects. 

EDDIE

[without moving] You could set me on fire right now and I wouldn’t care. Take it all. Take everything. 

RICHIE

Woah. Sounds like someone is having a good time over here. 

[Richie moves to the side, starting to inspect Eddie’s attempts. Eddie sits up, with a manic smile plastered on his face] 

EDDIE

Oh  _ yeah _ !!! I’m great! FANtastic! Peachy f*cking keen!! Everything coming up Kaspbrak! Look at my hand!! 

[Eddie holds up one of his hands. It is covered with small pieces of pink taffy.] 

EDDIE

It won’t come off no matter how many times I wash it!! [unhinged laughter] 

RICHIE

… Well. Uh… you got the color down at least?

EDDIE

[unhinged laughter intensifies] It’s supposed to be red!!!!! 

RICHIE

Oh. Sh*t.

EDDIE

Yes. Oh Sh*t. 

RICHIE

Well, walk me through the process, scout. What’s going on? 

EDDIE

WELL. First, I- 

[Mike has edited the video to x3 speed. Eddie talks through his entire process at lightning speed, pitched up, waving his hands frantically as he covers every single attempt and alteration he’s made to his recipe so far.] 

EDDIE

\- and now, after all that, I have three batches of absolute garbage that’s nowhere near the consistency I need to call this project a success. So  _ yeah _ . Richie. I’m doing  _ great _ . 

[Eddie lays back down on top of the table, covering the back of his head with both of his hands. Richie picks up one of the attempts, starting to play with it, looking thoughtful] 

RICHIE

… have you tried starting it at a lower temperature and slowly increasing it while you're cooking? 

EDDIE

What good would that do. 

RICHIE

Well I mean. You said you’re using coconut oil, right? [Eddie makes an affirmative grumble, so Richie goes on.] And coconut oil’s melting point changes when you heat it to different temperatures. I bet if you took one of the softer recipes, started it below 270, and raised it up nice and slow to 280 you’d get something closer to what you’re looking for. Add some more juice in there while you’re cooking to make up for evaporation losses, and bada-boom. You’ve got chewy taffy. 

[Richie has formed the failed taffy test into a square, and puts that back down next to Eddie.] 

RICHIE

Or I could just be talking out of my *ss. I don’t know. Just something to think about. 

[Richie claps Eddie on the back firmly, before taking a few handfuls of starbursts, shoving them into his pockets, and leaving. 

Eddie stays face down on the table for a few moments, before slowly pushing himself back up.] 

EDDIE

… Actually… 

[FAST FORWARD. 

Eddie has tried out Richie’s technique. He’s still gone through several more attempts, and has taken a couple of days to try out different levels of ingredients. Finally, on his 4th day of working on gourmet starbursts, he pulls a finished batch out of the loaf pan. He gives it an experimental bend, eyes going wide.] 

EDDIE

Oh… oh f*ck. Oh my god. 

[The unhinged laughter has returned, but in a triumphant manner. He tears a piece off, holding it in his hands and manipulating it.] 

EDDIE

Mike!!! Holy Sh*t! LOOK! Do you see this?! HA! A HA!!! 

[Eddie holds up the torn off piece towards the camera, pointing intensely at the edges of the piece] 

EDDIE

It’s not stretching!!! That’s a tear! It’s tearing!!! And it’s RED! Actually red!! 

[Eddie lays the slab down, cutting it into small starburst sized squares. He picks one up, and puts it in his mouth with no hesitation.] 

EDDIE

… Still a bit on the soft side. But that’s fine! That’s ok!!! Because it’s f*cking gourmet! It’s better than the original! That is fresh f*cking fruit juice! WOO! 

[Beverly, overhearing the conversation, lets out a return Celebratory WOO from the background of the shot] 

EDDIE

Everyone come over here!!!! You have to try this! Guys!!!! 

[Hard cut to everyone gathered around the counter, picking up pieces of Eddie’s starbursts and trying it. Bill is holding the camera so Mike can be in the shot. Everyone looks very pleased, nodding as they sample it.] 

BEN

Wow. Eddie, I have no idea how you pulled this off, but this is good. I think you nailed this, man. How’s it feel?

EDDIE

Ben I am so happy right now I could literally kiss you on the mouth. 

[Everyone besides Richie laughs] 

MIKE

Bill, you’ve got to get in on this. 

BILL

[Offscreen] Just p-... p-p-pass one over here. 

[Mike slides a piece across the counter to the camera. We see one hand reach out to pick it up.] 

BEV

See, Eddie? I knew you could do it! Great job, we’re really proud of you. 

EDDIE

Thanks guys. Honestly… I didn’t think I was going to make it to this point. Definitely wouldn’t have without all of you helping me. Let’s call this one a win for the Loser Test Kitchen as a whole. 

[Everyone claps. Eddie turns to look to the side, at Richie. He mouths a silent ‘Thank you’ to him specifically. Richie smiles, and gives him a thumbs up.] 

EDDIE

[back to the camera] So there you have it! You don’t need to settle for whatever garbage you can find on the shelves at a convenience store. It still isn’t healthy, but this sh*t is way better for you than the over-processed crap that comes out of candy factories. So get your notepads! Here is the final recipe, for how you can make gourmet starbursts at home. 

\- - - - - - - - 

GOURMET UPGRADE. Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen. 

1.4 Million views. 30k thumbs up. 552 thumbs down. 2,300 comments. 

RESTAURANT NIGHTMARES. Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen. 

1.8 Million views. 50k thumbs up. 3k thumbs down. 3,200 comments. 

WITHOUT A RECIPE. Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen. 

1.1 Million views. 28k thumbs up. 200 thumbs down. 2,000 comments. 

Top comment from Restaurant Nightmares:

Posted by Zayn Kahn. 2 weeks ago. 

“did eddie forget that caesar salad dressing has eggs in it???? lol egg allergy yeah ok” 

490 thumbs up 


	4. Salad part 1: Balsamic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tricky situation gets even harder to figure out after one fateful night for Eddie. 
> 
> Thoroughly confused, unable to find any answers from the internet, Eddie asks for advice from his two most divorced friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me pointing to every one of the losers* EVERYONE IS GETTING DIVORCES!!!!
> 
> *aggressively points to stan* EXCEPT FOR YOU STAN, YOU DID GOOD 
> 
> You will notice that this “section” is split into two chapters. Getting things to where I needed them before their trip / the resolution of the story took a bit longer than I thought it was going to, so you get a two-parter update this time! And things are starting to take their turn for the NASTY 
> 
> My apologies for taking a bit longer this time to update. You know how life is, work things and whatnot. But we’re still going my dudes! 
> 
> Side note in case some of y'all don't know the classic abbot and costello whose on first what's on second comedy bit that eddie mentions: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTcRRaXV-fg&t=303s
> 
> CONTENT WARNING FOR CHAPTER: This chapter has more specific mentions of Bev and her abusive relationship with her father / ex husband. If that content is upsetting for you, feel free to skip Bev's section! If you need to skip that section, basic summary to keep you caught up with the plot is that Bev gives Eddie advice about how it's okay to leave an abusive spouse if the situation hurts you more than helps you.

Eddie was standing in the test kitchen again, working on another batch of cupcakes. 

Something about the first trials of the millionth subscriber cupcakes had gone wrong. Apparently. Though he couldn’t remember what had happened. So he had to stay late again, working on mixing yet another cupcake batter on his own. 

But of course he never really had a moment of peace or silence in the kitchen. Just as he was getting ready to pour the batter into a cupcake tray, a familiar voice piped up from behind him. 

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“I’m making shoes, asshole. What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked dryly. “Go wash your hands before something flies out from under your nails and gets in my batter.” 

“Already done, captain. Wanna smell?” Richie asked, moving one of his hands around the side of Eddie’s head to the front of his face. Eddie reached up so he could lightly smack Richie’s hand away. 

“Gross. Get out of my face,” said Eddie. 

“Get your face out of my hand,” Richie replied, before leaning his hip against the counter next to Eddie. “... can I have some?” 

Eddie stopped his mixing, looking aside at Richie. 

“No? I’m not letting you eat raw batter. That’s unhealthy,” Eddie informed him. 

“Oh come on, just a little bit?” Richie whined. “I need it for an experiment. You’ll have plenty of it left over, promise.” 

Eddie was skeptical, but for some reason he nodded. He would never have let Richie have any of his cooking materials before he was finished with it, why did he suddenly change his mind now? 

It was a mistake, and he regretted it immediately. Eddie watched in horror as Richie reached over into the bowl, and took out a scoopful of batter. 

“Not with your finger you barbaria-” he tried to complain. 

He stopped in the middle of his sentence when Richie reached out with his finger, and trailed a line of batter over Eddie’s cheek, down his jawline. 

It was disgusting. Wet, and sticky. 

“Are you serious?? What the hell was that for?” Eddie asked. 

“So I could do this,” said Richie. 

Then he put one hand on Eddie’s side, leaned down, and licked the batter off his cheek. 

Eddie very suddenly became aware of his heartbeat. His body felt like it had exploded into a runner’s high, without moving an inch from his spot. 

Or maybe this was a stroke. Eddie had never had a stroke before. He figured this could be what having one felt like, and he was now actually dying. 

It wasn’t like Richie hadn’t licked him before. Richie was an overgrown man-child, so he thought that licking people to gross them out was ‘funny’. One time he licked Eddie’s hand to get him to let go of something they were both trying to wrestle away from one another. Then there was that night with the bodyshots, but Bev had done body shots off of Eddie too and _that_ wasn’t weird. 

But this felt different. It _was_ different. 

This time, Richie dragged his tongue over Eddie slowly. Like he was savoring the moment. Like he was enjoying himself. 

Even when he leaned back, Richie didn’t stray too far. He kept his face close to Eddie’s. 

“... I thought it would pair nicely with you,” Richie explained. “Turns out I was right.” 

‘ _That is absolutely not fair. He can’t be_ _smooth_ _. All he does is spew shit, how the hell is he doing this?_ ’ Eddie thought to himself. 

He also thought about the fact that he should probably shove Richie away. He should tell Richie to go. He was responsible for stopping this before it went anywhere. He had to say something. 

But he didn’t _want_ to. 

And he was suddenly filled to the brim with nothing but ‘ _I want_ ’. 

So Eddie held onto Richie’s forearm. He gripped it with the desperation of a man in the middle of the ocean after a ship sinks, clinging to a lifeboat. 

And when Richie asked: “So. What do you think. You wanna keep going?” 

Eddie let out a shaky sigh, and said “Don’t you dare stop now.” 

And then their lips were on each other’s. It felt like a movie kiss. The ones he normally looked at and thought ‘Who the hell would be into something like that?’. 

Eddie was. Apparently. 

When Richie wrapped his arms tightly around him it felt like wildfire was raging under his skin. When the tip of Richie’s tongue touched his, Eddie didn’t feel disgusted. He felt electricity. Richie pressed Eddie up against the counter with his hips, and it was rough. Strong. He wasn’t being babied, or “taken care of”, or coddled. He was desired. Riche _craved_ him. 

So Eddie got Richie to kiss him deeper. He reached both hands around the back of Richie’s head and pulled him in with all of his might, and licked into his mouth. 

Richie’s stubble scratched against his skin like crazy. But each scrape reminded Eddie how intensely he was feeling everything. It reminded him that he was with a man. And being reminded of that sent that electricity shooting back through his body and down his spine. 

Eddie was with a man, and they were kissing, and he had never felt more alive. 

When Richie broke the kiss, Eddie nearly growled at him. How dare he do that. Eddie was enjoying himself, and Richie cut him off before he was done. 

Thankfully, it was replaced by something much better. Richie turned Eddie around, his back now pressed into Richie’s chest. Richie’s hand moved around Eddie’s hip until it was at the crotch of his pants. He snapped his head back when Richie started to slowly massage there, one hand braced firmly on the edge of the counter while the other grabbed onto Richie’s arm. 

Every breath he let out had a distinct sound to it. None of it made sense, even when they resembled words, but every noise had one translation. More. He wanted more. 

He had been empty for so long. He’d been starving. Dehydrated. He needed to soak in everything Richie could give him. He had gorged himself on lust and friction, and happiness, and excitement, and he still needed more. 

He wanted Richie to mess him up. To get in his space. To make Eddie unravel. To tangle him up in a knot on the ground. And he was ravenous for it. 

After Richie’s fingers found the head of his member through his pants, and his thumb started to rub into it, Eddie felt like he was about to lose his mind. He was running out of coherent thoughts. He couldn’t even think about what he wanted Richie to do anymore. 

All he could think, rumbling through his brain like a jackhammer, was ‘ _Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes_ ’. 

Eddie let go of Richie, bent himself forward at the waist, and let the upper half of his body rest on top the counter. It was a good call on his part. Richie took advantage of the new position, slowly grinding his hips against Eddie. Standing as he was, with his legs spread, Eddie could feel Richie’s hard bulge pushing against the crevice of his ass. 

Eddie pushed back against Richie, and scraped his nails over the marble counter top. His cheek felt like boiling lava, pressed into the cool surface under him. He knew he was drooling, could feel the wetness of it under his cheek, and for once he didn’t care. 

Because Richie was grinding into him, and stroking him through his pants, and he felt this pressure building inside of him that made him feel like he was about to explode. 

But before he could, Richie stopped. He bent down over Eddie, tall enough that he could cover Eddie with his body and still be able to whisper against his ear. 

“Eds…” he said, thick and syrupy and sultry. 

“Richie… god…” Eddie whispered back, between desperate breaths. 

Richie chuckled, kissing his ear softly. 

Then he turned his head to the side a bit, and said “If you drive around here, this is not breaking news. You already know traffic is a problem. A Big problem.” 

Eddie’s head felt hazy. He had no idea what Richie was saying. It wasn’t making sense anymore. 

“...wha?” 

Richie’s voice sounded off again. Louder this time. 

“5 Investigates analyzed data from multiple sources, and it’s provided some answers as to why we’re seeing more and more of this. The city popular is growing every year, and-” 

It didn’t sound like Richie anymore. It sounded like…

\- - - - - - - - - 

Eddie jolted upright in bed, looking around him wildly. 

The alarm clock next to his bed blinked menacingly at him in the darkness. Flashing 6:00. The sound of a morning radio guest speaker blaring from the speakers. 

The first coherent thought that Eddie had, was that Richie wasn’t there. He hadn’t actually cornered Eddie in the kitchen and kissed him. Richie was gone, but the heat wasn’t. Eddie’s heart was still thumping in his chest. 

And when he pulled back the covers on his bed to look down at himself, he discovered that the erection wasn’t a dream-only phenomena either. 

“Would you get out of here?” he snapped at it. “Go away.” 

Much to Eddie’s chagrin, his boner did not listen. 

“Fuck you.” 

And then a memory struck him like lightning. Richie’s huge hands sliding over his body. Biting into his lower lip just enough to make it hurt a bit. Richie’s mouth on his neck. 

Eddie reached up and covered his mouth with a hand, eyes going wide. His first logical thought had managed to cut through the hormonal daze he had woken up in. 

Eddie had just had a sex dream. About Richie. And he was still turned on by it. 

“Ohhhhhhh no.” 

\- - - - - 

It was NOT weird to have sex dreams about your coworkers. 

Eddie had read that somewhere. Sometimes people had sex dreams about other people they weren’t even remotely attracted to. It didn’t have anything to do with personal preference, it was some weird misfiring in the brain. 

Just because someone dreamt that they were running from a giant penguin, didn’t mean they wanted to get hunted by one of them. So why should sex dreams be any different? 

It wasn’t weird. It was perfectly normal. Even if you were a married man, having sex dreams about a straight co-worker. Wild, insanely vivid sex dreams. That you couldn’t stop thinking about. 

One weird sexy dream was a fluke. Nothing to be concerned about. Side effect of the sleeping pills. Totally fine. 

Then he had another one. This time, Richie was a farmer for some reason. Eddie had gone there to pick up a special order of his corn crop. Richie had taken Eddie into the barn, tossed him onto a pile of straw, and gave Eddie a blowjob. 

Fuck. Ok, two sex dreams wasn’t great. But it wasn’t a pattern. Something had to happen at least three times in order for it to be a pattern, and Eddie definitely wasn’t going to dream about Richie anymore. He bought a sound machine, and played something called ‘SLEEP MIX’ on its highest volume to try to drown out whatever the hell his subconscious was trying to do. 

There must have been ocean sounds in there somewhere, because dream-Richie was suddenly a lifeguard, who pulled a drowning Eddie out of the ocean and kissed him back to life. There was also some fingering involved, which real-world Eddie did not appreciate. Beaches were _so_ unsanitary. Doing any sort of fingering when you are surrounded by sand was asking for extreme skin-irritation. 

But now the sex dreams were a pattern. And Eddie didn’t know what to do about it. 

So he did what any sane man would do in a situation like his. He googled it. 

He got to his laptop, pulled up an incognito web browser, and typed. 

‘ _Is it weird to have sex dreams about a friend_?’

Most of the results were the same. They said, no. It’s normal. Dreaming about sexual intercourse with a friend can be a reflection of the amount of closeness you feel to that person. It could also mean that person has a trait you’d like to make part of yourself. 

That much was true. Eddie deeply admired Richie. He felt close enough to him to spill his secrets, and never felt judged by Richie for doing so. He looked up to Richie. Envied his care-free attitude and his charisma. 

But something about that still didn’t feel right. He admired all of his friends. He wanted to be nice like Ben was, smart like Mike was, as powerful and cool as Beverly Marsh. So why wasn’t he fucking any of _them_ post-consciousness?? 

So he looked up ‘ _How to stop having sex dreams about friend_ ’. 

All of the results were the same as the first. Explaining why it happened, without providing any answers. 

He scowled, and typed ‘ _How to stop having sex dreams_ ’. 

The first results that came up that wasn’t just an explanation was: Five Ways to Overcome Sexual Dreams & Demonic Influences. 

He was desperate enough to skim the article. Maybe it was a sex demon. Maybe there was some sort of ancient ritual he could try to expel it out of his body. Or he could chug holy water.

He closed out of the page once he got to tip number five. ‘When you go to sleep at night, spend time soaking in God instead of tv, your phone, or video games. Play some worship music and be lost in His love.’ 

If there was actually a God, Eddie did not want to get him involved in whatever was going on here. He had soaked up quite enough, thankyouverymuch. 

The next website seemed more promising. It was an anonymous post on an answer forum, titled ‘How do I stop having sex dreams about a specific person?’ 

The answers just looped him back around to where he started. One anecdote in particular made him want to scream into his pillows. 

Posted by Laura Hall. Answered August 27th, one year ago. 

“I'm currently the star of my best friend's sex dream.

He told me about it just today and I did not feel offended about it at all. I know what he's going through in his marriage and he confided in me several secrets of his intimate life. When he did tell me about his dream (not in graphic details, but enough to paint the picture in my head), I know that deep inside he craved for an intimate connection as good as our friendship, where we can confide in each other about most anything without having to be afraid to get laughed at or mocked with.

I also have to be frank and admit that there's enough physical attraction between me and my best friend (he thinks I'm attractive woman he could consider dating in another lifetime, and vice versa), so I guess that's one of the reason he had me starred in his sex dreams.

So maybe, while you and your husband have a healthy sex life and relationship, there's some aspect in your friendship with this person that you feel lacking in your life with the husband. Or maybe, you admire this person so much, as a person in a non-sexual way, and you wanted to be more like him. Just my two cents.” 

Right back where he started. This was some “who’s on first, what’s on second, I don’t know who’s on third” _bullshit_. Going around and around, never leading him anywhere. 

The problem was that he wasn’t happy with his marriage. He and Richie trusted each other, and it had created an emotionally intimate connection. So now Eddie was imagining himself reflecting that with a physical intimacy. 

_Who’s on first? What are you asking me for?_

But Eddie was also emotionally intimate with his other friends. He could always count on Bill to have his back. He’d give Eddie an advance on his paycheck if he really needed it, no questions asked. One time, before anyone else joined the kitchen, he’d gotten drunk with Bill, Mike, and Bev. Mike held Eddie in his arms for a good ten minutes that night, just because Eddie was sad and too tired to hide it. He smelled comforting, like books and Old Spice. But Eddie never had a sex dream about it. 

It was only a problem with Richie. So how did he stop it? 

_I don’t know. Third base._

Maybe he stopped it by explaining it. Maybe it was the physical attraction part. Richie wasn’t a bad looking guy. If they had another lifetime, and they were both gay and single, whose to say they couldn’t have been a couple? 

_What’s the name of the guy on first base? No, he’s on second._

But Ben wasn’t bad looking either. He was _gorgeous_. One time Eddie has seen Ben’s abs when he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat off of his face and had literally said ‘Holy Shit’ out loud. Gay-Ben would have been the perfect boyfriend. Anyone would be lucky to have a partner like Ben. But when Eddie tried to imagine kissing him, he felt nothing. 

Because he wasn’t gay? Then why did he get so excited about the dreams he had with Richie in them? How did he go back to having dreamless nights again?

I don’t know. 

_Third base._

Eddie wasn’t getting anywhere on his own. 

He needed help. 

Not with the homosexual confusion, of course. God no, he was never going to tell anyone about that. He was taking that one to the grave with him. 

But if those articles and opinions had any weight to them, he could fix the intensity of the dreams by working on his marriage. The only reason they were happening at all was because of his marital problems. 

And Eddie just happened to know two divorced people that could grant him some insight. 

\- - - - - -

Beverly Marsh had acquired a few favorite smoking spots in her lifetime. 

The first had been from back when she was a kid. She had her first cigarette when she was 12 years old, a habit she picked up simply because she knew she wasn’t supposed to be doing it. Because ‘good little girls’ didn’t smoke. And she wasn’t good. She was broken. Rotten, from the inside out. But she would sit under a tree, far out of sight of her house, and overlook a nearby river while she worked her way through a cigarette and everything felt better for a moment. 

When she had finally escaped from her father’s home and made it to college, she found another favorite spot. Another place, under another tree, thousands upon thousands of miles away from her hometown. This tree was smaller, but it had flowers on it that would bloom every year. The clearing was surrounded by the walls of the buildings around her, so no wind ever blew back smoke into her eyes. It was her quiet sanctuary away from the madness of balancing two jobs and a college degree. 

When she lived with Tom, her favorite spot wasn't anywhere close to their apartment. She’d stand on the front steps that led into the building to smoke when she needed to, but even those steps felt like they were suffocating her. Her favorite spot then had been a place she went to any time Tom was out of town. When no one was watching her, so she could start walking down the street. And walk, and walk, and walk, until her sandals started cutting into the sides of her heels. Until she found a small dog park where no one took their dogs. It had a single park bench. The whole structure was located close to some train tracks, close enough to feel the rumble of powerful machinery any time a train went rocketing by. A place she could sit, and smoke through half a pack of Marlboros, and no one could hear or see her crying. 

Things were better now. She still smoked, but not nearly as often as she used to. 

There was no park, nor trees, near her smoking spot at work. Just a few concrete steps and some brick walls. Still, she enjoyed that spot. Very much. It was slowly becoming one of her lifetime favorites. 

Because she was no longer running from something when she had a cigarette. Just taking a short break to clear her mind, to relax for a moment, before returning to a group of people who genuinely loved her and didn’t demand anything from her. 

And for the first time in her life, she enjoyed it when people joined her. When Richie came out and begged her for a free cig, or when Mike would come out and sit by her just to chat. She had even lured Ben out a few times, shocked by how he didn’t seem to mind being in the presence of her unhealthy habit. 

So when she heard the door open behind her one day, she assumed it was one of her usual culprits. She made a guess as to which one. 

“Sorry, Richie! Only got two left today, you’re out of luck,” she said. 

“I uh… I’m good. Thanks,” said another voice. Definitely not Richie. 

Bev’s eyebrows rose up, twisting around to confirm what she had guessed. 

“Eddie??” she asked. This was certainly an unusual sight. Eddie had never been a big fan of being around her when she had a cigarette. He had several very strong opinions on second-hand smoke. 

“Is it okay if I join you?” he asked. 

She would have teased him about it, but something in his tone of voice stopped her. He sounded troubled, hesitant and nervous in a way that didn’t match his usual energy. So without hesitation she waved him over, patting the seat on the steps next to her. 

“Office hours are open,” she said lightly. Bev waited for Eddie to take a seat, careful to hold her cigarette away from him, and to blow smoke in the opposite direction as well. “And to what do I owe the honor of being visited by Chef Kasprak himself?” she asked, in good spirits. 

Eddie fidgeted nervously with his hands. He looked like he could use a cigarette right about now. It was too bad he didn’t smoke. 

“I. Well, actually. Just a question,” he began. “And if it's too personal, you don’t have to answer it. You used to be married, right?” 

Bev’s smile fell off of her face. She wasn’t upset at Eddie, or anyone for talking about it. God, no. But she couldn’t retain any shred of joy any time the topic came up. 

“... yeah. I was,” she said, immediately taking a long drag off of the cigarette before flicking the ash off of the end of it. “It’s not a very uplifting story. But… I think you could have guessed that by now.” 

Beverly had never directly told Eddie what had happened to her, but she knew the bread crumbs were all around her. Any time she flinched when someone raised their voice too loudly, the way she sometimes backed down from arguments without properly defending herself. The scars she tried her best to hide. 

Eddie nodded. 

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” he began. “I mean, I don’t know everything about what happened. But whatever it was, I know it sucked. And if I ever see that guy, I don’t care what the law says, I’ll fucking take him out. I swear to God.” 

That was enough to get Bev smiling slightly again. She leaned to the side, affectionately tapping Eddie’s side with her elbow. 

“Thanks, Eddie. But I’d rather have you working here than on the kitchen staff in a prison,” she said. “So. We’ve established that at one point, I was married.”

“Right. You were. And now you’re not. So you got a divorce,” Eddie stated. 

“I did. Bill actually helped me a lot with that, once I was out and staying at a coworker’s place,” Bev explained. 

“So, Bill wasn’t around when you separated from your ex husband?” Eddie asked. 

Beverly shook her head. 

“I sent him a message through facebook a couple weeks after it happened. I didn’t tell him about anything specific, just the fact I was trying to get a divorce and needed some legal advice,” said Bev. 

“Then- …. Okay. This is the tough question. Please just, tell me to go fuck myself if you don’t want to answer. Alright?” Eddie asked. 

“Eddie, it’s fine. I’ll let you know,” Bev insisted. 

“Right. So… you were married. And then things went to shit, and you left,” Eddie started with, trying to figure out how he wanted to word things as he went along. “... How did you do it? How did you just… go?” 

Bev felt a sudden rush of sadness move over her. Not for herself this time, but for her friend. 

Eddie, like Bev, had never shared the intimate details of his married life. But she knew. She had eyes. She could see the struggles he was going through, and knew that this question was coming from a place of personal struggle. 

“... it wasn’t easy,” she started with. She had run out of her first cigarette, immediately lighting up another. She wasn’t going to get through this without some nicotine support. “I honestly tried to leave a few times before then, but it never worked out. Either he’d find where I had gone to, or I’d end up listening to his voicemails and just. Decide to go back. Because I knew-.... I _thought_ I wasn’t going to be able to make it on my own.” 

Back then she had been controlled by her fear. She thought that no one else would ever love her. That she was useless, that she wasn’t built to survive without someone taking care of her. She thought that admitting defeat, going back, and receiving a thrashing was smarter than trying to stay away and getting killed for it. 

“So what changed?” Eddie asked, quietly. 

It was a difficult question to answer. One that Beverly had thought over many times in her head, and still couldn’t quite figure out. 

“... It just went too far one day,” Bev finally said. “I won’t disturb you with the details, but he did something that reminded me too much of what my father used to do. And all of a sudden I thought that… if this guy doesn’t kill me first, I’m going to kill him. I reached my limit. So I knocked him out, left my wedding ring, and took off running. I didn’t really make a decision. I just… snapped.” 

Bev took another drag from her cigarette, closing her eyes as she let out the smoke slowly. 

Eddie did not seem comforted by that information. Not that Bev expected him to be. He was deep in thought, but still managed to get out a “... damn”. 

“Damn’s right,” Bev agreed. It was the truth, but she knew that the information didn’t apply to Eddie’s situation. Not entirely. So to help him out, she re-framed it for him. 

“Everyone has their own ‘breaking point’. It doesn’t have to wait until things get to their rock bottom,” she said. She was on her final cigarette of the pack now, and was doing her best to make it last through the rest of their conversation. “And it doesn’t just apply to marriage. If you’re in a situation where you’re unhappy, I think one day something happens where you realize there’s no fixing it. No one else can tell you when that point happens. When you know, you know.” 

“And how do you know you can’t fix it?” Eddie asked. He sounded so unsure, so lost. Beverly wanted nothing more than to reach aside and hold onto Eddie, to tell him that his marriage was already a lost cause. She wanted to fix things for him. But she couldn’t. No one else could. So she did the only thing that she knew would help.

He turned to him, and offered him a smile. 

“You ask yourself if you want to fix it. It’s like… restoring antiques. If there’s anything worth saving on an antique, you can strip it and repair it. So if you’re looking at something, and can’t see anything worth saving… I think that’s when you know it’s time to move on,” said Bev. "Or, maybe you think there's something worth saving, but then you peel it back and you see that even the best parts of what you had were crawling with termites the whole time. Some things can't be fixed, even if you want to. And you have to tell yourself there's nothing wrong with letting go of something that's been hurting you more than helping you."

Eddie sat in silence for a few moments, absorbing what Beverly said. She wasn’t entirely sure how close or far her point hit from home, because a few moments later Eddie was back to his old self. Groaning slightly, rolling his eyes. 

“Ugh. You’ve been spending too much time around Ben. You sound just like him.” 

Beverly let out a loud laugh, flushing pink as she realized her allegory was indeed ripped right from the wisdom of their local handyman. 

“What?? He gives really good advice. You should ask him for pointers next time you have a problem,” she said. 

“And deprive you of my company while you chain-smoke downwind from a dumpster? Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie replied dryly. 

Bev laughed, glad to see Eddie returning to his usual self. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you for honoring me with your presence,” she said. 

And there they sat for another solid quarter of an hour, riffing back and forth, as the butt as Bev’s final cigarette of the day fizzled out on the ground in front of them. 

\- - - - - - 

Bill was alone in his office when Eddie went looking for him. 

He didn’t appear to be doing much, just sitting at his desk, typing away on his phone. Eddie still knocked politely anyhow, before poking his head through the open door. 

“Hey, Bill. Are you busy right now?” 

Bill stopped typing, looking up with a smile. 

“Eddie, hey!” he said, waving him in. “Not at all, I’m just playing candy crush. Don’t tell Mike, I’m supposed to be doing spreadsheets right now,” he joked. 

Once Eddie was inside, with the door closed, he continued. “What’s going on? Did Richie break something again?” 

Eddie couldn’t help himself. He let out a nervous laugh. 

“What? Why would Richie be breaking anything?? This isn’t about him. Why do you ask?” he sputtered out. 

“Uh. Sure,” Bill said, blinking with confusion. “Sooo... what _is_ this about?” 

“... you don’t have to answer this, if it’s too personal. But I wanted to ask you something,” Eddie admitted. He took a seat in the room, sitting up straight as possible. 

“Of course,” said Bill supportively. “What is it?” 

“Do you remember why you and your ex wife got divorced?” 

Bill let out a long puff of air through his lips, leaning back in his seat. “Man. You weren’t kidding. Heavy question for a Monday morning.” 

“You don’t have to answer. Like I said,” Eddie reminded him. 

“No, it’s fine,” Bill insisted. “It’s honestly pretty anti-climatic. We had been living separately for almost a year when I told her I was quitting my job to open the test kitchen. She asked for a divorce and I agreed.” 

Bill spoke nonchalantly, like he was discussing business. Plain and simple. Something Eddie needed so desperately. 

“So you weren’t getting along, by the end. Did you get along at first?” Eddie asked. 

Bill nodded. “Absolutely. I think…no. I _did_ love her. At first. And I still like her, just not in the same way I did when we were younger. ” 

“How did you know you weren’t in love with her anymore?” said Eddie. 

Bill had to think for a bit longer about that one. But he made an effort to pull up examples as quickly as possible. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Eddie so desperately needed answers about marital problems, and Bill didn’t want to miss the opportunity to help his friend out. 

“It’s hard to pinpoint, honestly. It wasn’t so much a single event.. more like, small moments that kept building up into it. Uhm… Well, we started spending more time arguing than we spent getting along with each other. I think that was the start of it. Then I started sleeping in the guest bedroom. We tried to fix things for a while, but everything we did just seemed to make things worse. So we stopped,” Bill explained. 

He stopped to look at the spot where his wedding band used to sit on his hand. At one point in his life he had loved having a ring there. It made him feel important, wanted. Proud. Now he barely thought about the absence of it. 

“So when Audra brought up getting a divorce, it just sort of made the most sense. I was never going to be the goal-oriented husband she needed. And she wasn’t the sort of supportive spouse I needed. So we let each other go.” 

Eddie was pailing considerably with every word. 

Hearing about Beverly’s divorce had been painful in its own way, but had still left him with a small bit of hope. Myra was a bit overwhelming, but she had never been physically confrontational with him. 

But the way Bill described his own experience had somehow struck deeper. It was too realistic, too similar to his own circumstances. 

And to top it all off, Bill was _fine_ with it. He wasn’t a shell of his former self. He had gone through one of Eddie’s greatest fears, and didn’t even seem phased by the idea of it. 

Eddie was going to have a panic attack. Or an asthma attack. An attack of some kind of coming, and Eddie was going to have to handle it. So he fished around in his pocket, pulling out his inhaler. 

Then, Eddie inquired about his final concern. 

“But you’re not dating anyone now. Did you try at all?” 

And that’s when Bill’s composure finally broke. The secret pocket of regret that Bill had to decide whether or not he wanted to share. 

It was a horrifically shameful tale. He could have averted the subject easily, but seeing the troubled look on his friend’s face was enough to convince him to answer Eddie honestly. 

Anything for a friend in need. 

“Well… kind of. And I will explain that. But first, I need you to promise to tell _no one_ about this,” Bill said. “Except for Mike and Bev. They know, but no one else can. Got it?” 

Eddie nodded, so Bill continued. 

“Well. I told you Bev and I grew up together right? We lived kind of close to each other, so we’d hang out all the time. And I… w-w-well I…. k-k… fuck, Kind of had a crush on her. As a kid. We kissed once before we went off to college, but n-n-neither of us had the money to visit each other at university so nothing became of it. We lost touch…” 

Bill let out a sigh, starting to run his hands through his hair. It was a rough memory to relive. 

“Then she contacted me out of nowhere because she needed help setting up her divorce. I helped out just because she was an old friend, nothing more. But then Audra and I divorced, and I opened the kitchen with Bev, and we had been w-w-working together for about a year after both our divorces were f-finalized…” 

Bill’s plan had worked. Before his story began, Eddie had been about to go into a spiraling panic attack. He had even taken a large puff from his inhaler at the beginning of Bill’s anecdote, but had calmed down considerably since. 

Now, Eddie was leaning forward in his seat. His mouth hung open slightly in shock, staring at Bill. 

“Bill… you _didn’t_.” 

Bill’s face was red with shame now, covering it with his hands. 

“Oh, I did all right. I sure did. _But_. Before you go imagining anything weird, we barely dated. We probably went out to dinner two times and kissed once. But it was just like what happened when we were kids, we were better off as friends,” said Bill. 

“Did you ever have sex dreams about her?” 

“S-s-sex- _WOAH_. Eddie,” Bill sputtered out, absolutely flabbergasted. 

“Don’t make this weird, answer the question,” Eddie insisted. 

“I don’t n-need to make this weird. It s-s-started weird. _You_ made this weird,” Bill said. 

“Fine! Don’t answer the question. I bet you did. And that’s why you won’t answer me,” said Eddie, crossing his arms. 

Bill let out a long sigh. 

“I think I’ve given you enough blackmail material on me for one day,” he said. 

“Calm down, it’s not blackmail material. Who would I even sell that information to? Mike is the only one who- wait. How does Mike know??” Eddie asked. 

Another tricky topic, one that Bill thought he could afford to keep to himself. 

It wouldn’t be easy to explain that Mike had been concerned about Bill’s opinion of Ben. Mike was observant, of course he noticed Bill staring enviously any time Bev cozied up to their new hire. 

And that it had been Mike who helped him figure out that he wasn’t angry at Ben. 

He wasn’t angry with anyone. He was sad, because when he saw Ben and Beverly together, he saw an immediate and powerful spark of attraction. Something he had once wished for with Bev, but hadn’t even come close to. 

He was jealous. And he was finally starting to feel lonely. Wondering if he was broken, unable to connect to anyone in a significant manner. 

But then Mike had pulled his attention back in. He distracted him at first, telling him handfuls of tales and folklore from all over the world, about the idea of soul mates. He described how fascinating it was, that ancient people thousands of miles apart with no means of communication could come up with the same idea, of people who are fated to meet you. 

And then, with the kindest look in his eyes, Mike told Bill that he didn’t have anything to worry about. Because soul mates are tied to one another before they are even born. No one needs to fight for a soul mate, they come to you in their own time. 

But Eddie didn’t need to know about all of that. 

“Can’t even remember when I let the ball drop on that one. I might have told him when we went out drinking some time,” Bill said dismissively. 

“Well, I’m not going to tell anyone,” said Eddie. “As long as you don’t tell anyone what I was asking about. Especially about the sex dreams.” 

“Oh… kay??” Bill agreed. 

“Good. Thank you for your time,” Eddie said, and left Bill’s office as suddenly as he had entered it. 

Bill sat by himself in silence, deep in thought. 

He pressed one hand to his head, and asked himself “... Is Eddie having sex dreams about Bev???”


	5. Salad part 2: French

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie notices that Eddie hasn't been acting like himself, so decides to make a special treat for him. 
> 
> After 6 months of working together, Eddie has to make a decision about whether he wants to let Richie stay with the test kitchen or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND PART TWO OF UPDATE!!!! 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for your patience! This chapter pretty much wraps up all the interactions with the rest of the loses and Richie / Eddie. After this chapter the two of them are going to be off... on their own ;] ;] ;] ;] ;] And then we're turning the sensual tension up to 11 BBYYYYY 
> 
> Sorry if the last two chapters were a lil bit anti-climatic, the next couple are going to be FILLED WITH ACTION, STORY CLIMAX!!!!

“So. Anyone else think Eddie’s been acting weird lately?,” Richie asked, in the middle of one of his “meetings” with Bill and Mike. 

They had a weekly tradition of all getting together for an hour or two, just the three of them, and shooting the shit together. The original intention of these gatherings had been to fill Richie in on everything he missed while he was out of town. But those business matters tended to only take up about 15 minutes tops, so they got into the habit of filling the rest of their time with whatever the hell they wanted to talk about. 

This time Richie wanted to talk about Eddie. Because he _had_ been avoiding Richie. Aggressively. 

“What makes you think that?” Mike asked. 

They usually all played some sort of game together while they hung out like this. Sometimes it was phone games. Sometimes they played hangman on Bill’s white board. A week ago, Richie had bought Bill a dart board. So they all sat around, throwing plastic tipped darts at a shitty target on one end of the room. None of them had landed a hit yet. 

Richie watched as Mike’s dart bounced off of the target. 

“Probably my well trained powers of deduction,” Richie said. He stood up from his spot, hawked his dart full force at the board, and cursed when it too bounced off. “The fuck is wrong with this thing? … Oh, also the fact Eddie straight up ran away from me last week.” 

“Were you tormenting him?” Bill asked, giving his own attempt at a hit on the target. Another failed bounce. 

“Well I mean. Yeah. But I always do that,” Richie responded. “It wasn’t even that bad. We got a shipment of those weird spiky fruit things that smell like ass, so I rubbed my hand in it and stuck it in front of his face and told him to smell my fingers. He didn’t even tell me to fuck off, he just booked it out of there.” 

“I don’t think that’s uncharacteristic for him. Sounds like he got grossed out,” said Mike. “But, that aside, you might be right about him being in a funk. He seems distracted.” 

“He’s just… going through some shit right now,” Bill said after. Hesitantly, wondering how much information he could give without sharing too much about Eddie’s personal life. “He’s been like that with everyone. Give him some time, he’ll come back around.” 

Mike fired another dart off at the board, frowning as it bounced off again. “Richie, what the hell is up with this board you bought?” 

Richie leaned back in his seat, shrugging. “I don’t know. It was like, 15 bucks on amazon. Guess it sucks,” he said. 

Then Richie went back to thinking about Eddie, as Mike stood and went to the dart board to inspect it more closely. 

“... We should do something for him. Right? Even if we can’t fix the problem for him we could... I don’t know. Get him a Mr. Clean gift basket or something,” said Richie. 

“That’s actually a really nice thought,” Bill said, smirking slightly. “Are you sure _you’re_ feeling ok? Or did you get abducted last time you were in LA and get replaced with an alien doppelganger who didn’t get the memo that you’re an asshole?” 

Richie laughed, and flipped Bill two matching middle fingers. 

“That’s a very real possibility. There have been increased UFO sightings on the west coast recently” Mike said, trying to push one of the darts into the dart board. “You’ve got to return this thing, Rich. These darts won't even go in point-blank.” 

“Hey, tell that to Bill. It’s _his_ board now, not my problem,” Richie said. 

Richie knew he could come up with something to try to brighten up Eddie’s mood. He was the ideas guy. There had to be something out there that Eddie would genuinely appreciate. The question was, what was that special something, and how could Richie pull it off in a strictly, non weird, 100% platonic manner. 

“... Maybe I’ll cook something up for him. Chefs appreciate shit like that, right? Like, gluten-free cookies. Or a salad. I could cut up some lettuce for him and feed it to him like a rabbit,” Richie pondered. 

“Yes, Richie. I’m sure he’d love that,” Bill said, rolling his eyes slightly. “Let me know if you need any help. I’m sure everyone here would be willing to pitch in.” 

“Will do, Big Boss,” Richie said, sending a salute Bill’s way. 

“Hey… guys?” Mike said, holding one of the darts up on display. “Think I figured out the problem. 

Mike took hold of the plastic tip on the end of the dart, and removed it. Revealing a pointed metal edge, which he then stuck into the cork board target. 

“... huh.” 

\- - - - - - - - - - - 

**Richie Tozier makes: Eddie-Spaghetti**

Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen

Description: Richie tries his best to cheer up a friend! Who will win? Richie, or his slowly failing attention span? 

[Open on Richie standing in the Test Kitchen. He waves to the camera with a big smile on his face.] 

RICHIE

Hello, and welcome back to the Loser Test Kitchen. I’m your favorite host, Richie Tozier! Today we’re going to be doing something extra special. You all know Eddie, right? About two inches tall, fuse the size of an ant, talks at the speed of lightning on methamphetamine? Well he’s been pretty bummed recently. So, I came up with a brilliant idea. 

[Richie bows to an imaginary audience] 

RICHIE

Thank you, thank you. I know, my genius is astounding. Anyway, I came up with this idea. What was that idea, you ask? Well let me tell you. My idea was, let’s make Eddie some dinner! Obviously I’m not going to be able to make anything that’s going to impress him, he’s way better at this than I am. But it’s the thought that counts. Right? Right, Mike?

[The camera moves up and down a bit, like Mike is “Nodding”] 

RICHIE

Right! And what better thing to throw together for my favorite spaghetti-head than a plate of pasta? This is the unveiling of Richie Tozier’s new world-famous recipe, created just for my main man. This sh*t is going to be French. As. F*ck. But before we get into what is going to be in the pasta dish, we have to go over what _can’t_ be in the dish. Because as many of you know, Eds has a very comprehensive list of a bunch of sh*t he can’t eat without getting sent to the nearest hospital. 

[Richie pulls out a sheet of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it, slowly. The paper gets longer and longer each time he unfolds it, until it is almost comically oversized] 

RICHIE

Let’s see here. Can’t put any soy in it. No eggs, no cashews, no nuts in general. Not a huge nut fan, this guy. Wink. And we’re going to have to use a gluten free pasta, so that’s _fun_. No shellfish, so seafood pasta is out. Might be able to sneak some squid ink in there? I don’t know, I’ll have to play that one by ear. Dairy gives him the sh*ts so we’re going to have to substitute a non-dairy option into this if we want to do anything with cheese. And… Lupin? What the f*ck is lupin?? Is that like, lupus? Doesn’t matter. Not going into the dish. Cats and dogs? Good news for Fido over here, he gets to live another day. And Fish. Fish in general. Can’t put anything from Mother Ocean into the dish. Got it. Again, does ink count as a fish? Are squids fish? Or is that like, the difference between a slug and a snail? Can I get a snail in there? That’s french, right? 

[Richie looks over the list for a moment longer. Mike has edited in a bunch of numbers and math equations swirling around his head, like he’s trying to unlock some insanely complicated algebra problem.] 

RICHIE

Well, like the great bard himself said. Once you rule out everything you can’t put into a dish, everything that remains is free game! So. I’ll be real with you guys. I don’t _exactly_ have a game plan right now, but I have pulled a bunch of ingredients I know I can use. 

[Richie motions down to the table, going over some of the things he’s retrieved from the kitchen stock] 

RICHIE

So to start, we’ve got the gluten-free pasta. Most important component of any spaghetti dish. I went with angel hair, because Eddie looks like a tiny little cherub. Next up, tomatoes! Eddie f*cking loves cherry tomatoes, you guys have no idea. Which is hilarious, because he’s always going on about how tomatoes are ‘too acidic’ and give him heartburn, but then ten minutes later he’s downing a whole bowl of these little f*ckers. Apparently you can cut out the acidity of them a bit by cooking them with a little bit of sugar, so I’m going to give that a go. We’ve got some capers here too, olives, and to top it all off? 

[Richie pats a tub on the table. Mike has edited in a comedic punching sound as Richie’s hand hits the plastic] 

RICHIE

Dairy-free Parmesan! I think it tastes like *ss, but hey. This isn’t Tozier Tortellini we’re making. My man wants sh*tty fake cheese? He’s getting the sh*tty fake cheese. We’ve got eggplant, some various herbs and spices, your good ol’ reliable salt and pepper, and God’s gift to man: Garlic. 

[Richie makes a ‘chef kissing his fingers’ motion] 

RICHIE

That’s a good start! We’re pretty much working with a Pasta Provençal recipe as a base for this, but like I said. This is Tozier time. We’re improvising. If I see an ingredient that looks like a good addition that isn’t on Eddie’s ever-growing list of banned food items? You bet your sweet *ss it’s going in the pot. Am I forgetting anything?

[Richie pauses again, looking off to the side of the camera. Mike has edited in the jeopardy theme music during his silence.] 

RICHIE

…. F*ck if I know. Let’s rock and roll! 

[FAST FORWARD 

Richie is in the middle of cooking up the angel hair pasta, stirring it in a pot. He is whistling to himself, pulling up a few strands of pasta with his spoon and inspecting it.] 

RICHIE

So. Fun fact for everyone at home. Everyone’s heard that old wives’ tale, right? The one where you know if your pasta is done or not when you throw it at a wall and it sticks. Yeah? Well get ready to have your minds collectively blown. That is some bullsh*t right there. Don’t feel bad if you thought that was real until now, I also thought that was a thing until I started working here. But then Eddie caught me throwing pasta at the wall and was all- 

[Richie starts mimicking Eddie’s voice] 

RICHIE

‘ _No, you idiot. You absolute buffoon. Moron. Pasta starts getting gummy when it’s overcooked. It cooks from the outside in. The only way you can tell whether it’s cooked right is by trying it. Spaghetti is meant to be cooked Al Dente. It’s not going to f*cking stick to a wall if it’s Al Dente_.’ So I’ve stopped throwing pasta at walls… 

[Richie trails off. He’s looking to his side, watching as Stan works in the background. Stan has pulled a batch of croissants out of an oven, and is now examining them to quality check them. Richie turns back to the camera, with a sly smile.] 

RICHIE

… I think I need a second opinion. Hey! Stan! 

[Stan looks up from his work, waiting for Richie to explain why he needed his attention] 

RICHIE

Is this done?? 

[Richie flings a few strands of angel hair pasta over the counter at Stan. They end up in his hair, one strand stuck to his face. Stan stays perfectly still, then slowly reaches up to remove the strand of pasta from his face.] 

STAN

… I will remember this, Richie. _One day_. 

[Stan leaves the kitchen. Richie looks after him for a few moments, before turning back to the camera] 

RICHIE

Oh, that’s not good. Last time Stan ‘one day’d me, he covered my bedroom floor with mousetraps while he was crashing at my place. Did I ever tell you about that, Mike? Seriously. One time I pranked him by putting a bunch of baking powder in his weekly pre-prepared smoothies. I thought it was funny, apparently he didn’t. He texts me and asks _‘Hey Rich did you put something in my smoothies_ ?’. So I tell him yeah, I put a sh*t-ton of baking powder in there. You’re welcome. He goes radio silent for 10 minutes then just says ‘ _One day_ ’. You know, like a serial killer. 

[Richie leans on the counter] 

RICHIE

Four. Years. Went by. Stan waited four years. Just long enough for me to forget it happened. Then of course one night he needs a place to crash. So I let him, like the dutiful friend I am. I wake up the next morning, and my floor is covered in mouse traps. Every square inch of it. And taped to the back of my door was a sign that said ‘ _Today_ ’. 

[Richie laughs at the memory of that]

RICHIE

Thank god I always sit on my phone in bed for a solid hour before I get up to do anything. I mean, I still crushed my fingers in a few while I picked them up, but I didn’t accidentally step on any. That’s an honest to god true story. Even I couldn’t come up with something as twisted as that. So yeah. I am in _huge_ trouble now. 

MIKE

Uh… Richie?

[The camera moves back over to the stove. The pot is boiling over, pasta spilling out onto the stove top. 

Hard cut to an undetermined period of time later. Richie is standing in front of a glass bowl, filled with pasta, with a plastic cover on top of it.] 

RICHIE

And we’re back! So. I uh… had to cook a second batch of pasta. Big thanks for Stan for that one. But, point is, pasta’s done. We’re going to leave that off to the side, covered up so it doesn’t lose too much heat while we work on the rest of the dish. Now comes the fun part. Toppings! Eddie doesn’t seem like a huge sauce guy, so I’m not going to create a sauce to go with the pasta. Keep it simple. Cook up a few veggies separately in olive oil, then combine everything together with the pasta. That should keep the individual flavors of each ingredient strong enough to stand out on their own, but still blend well when they’re all put together. First up is the…. 

[Richie looks off to the side again, to something happening off camera. Mike follows what’s happening with the camera, showing Bev doing something by the window] 

RICHE

Bev! Hey! What’s going on over there? 

[Bev isn’t hooked up to a microphone, so she can’t explain. She just turns to the camera and smiles, holding up a mortar and pestle towards Richie and the camera.] 

RICHE

[back to the camera] Hold on, this is important. 

[Richie leaves his work station, motioning for Mike to follow. They go over to where Beverly is working.] 

RICHIE

And what ancient caveman concoction are you brewing over here, lady? 

BEV

I’m making Pesto~

RICHIE 

Incredible. Revolutionary. Inspiring. I love it. Hey, Mike. Get in real close on that clacking. Let’s give the viewers some ASMR. 

[Mike moves in closer to the mortar, picking up the sound of Beverly grinding basil into the bowl.] 

RICHIE

Ohhhh yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. That’s the good stuff. Bev, tell the good people at home why you’re going hog on this by hand instead of using the blender like the rest of us uncultured peons. 

BEV

Well, there’s actually a very good reason for that. You see, when you blend anything, the blades at the bottom of the blender turn so quickly they heat up while you’re working with it. The heat from the blades will start to oxidize whatever herbs you put into it. Working with a pestle keeps the heat out of the mixture, which will make your final product much greener. 

RICHIE

[whistles] Well I’ll be. Hey, when you’re done with that, could I have a little bit? I’m working on Ed’s pasta dish right now-

BEV

Are you? Or are you over here, watching me grind Pesto. 

RICHIE

I am over here, supporting you. Because you are my friend, and I am your number one fan. 

[Beverly rolls her eyes ] 

BEV

Yes, you can have some of this when I’m done with it. Get back to work, Tozier. 

RICHIE

Aye aye, captain. 

[Richie gives her a pat on the shoulder, and a loud kiss on the cheek that she immediately wipes off, before returning to his work station] 

RICHIE

So. Now we’ve got pesto added to the mix! That’s great, it’ll go well with the tomatoes. …. I wonder what else we can get in here. To the pantry! 

[Hard cut to Richie in the pantry. He is digging through the shelves, pulling out ingredients and inspecting them. Most of them get placed off to the side.] 

RICHIE

No. No. … No. Not this. No. N- holy SH*T! Mike! We have Coconuts??? 

[Richie pulls out a couple of coconuts, gathering them into his arms] 

RICHIE

When the hell did we get coconuts?? These are like. Actual coconuts. Are you seeing this right now? 

[Hard cut to Richie back at his work station. The rest of the ingredients are pushed aside. He now has the coconuts sitting out on the counter in a line] 

RICHIE

Hey. Hey Mike. Check this out. 

[Richie has pulled out two wooden spoons, tapping them on top of the coconuts. He laughs to himself, drumming on them rhymically to the beat of the song he is singing.] 

RICHIE

I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts. Dun dun dun dun. There they are a standing in a row. DUN DUN DUN DUN. Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head! Give them a twist, a flick of the wrist, that’s what the showman said! I’ve got a lovely bunch of-

[Hard cut. Richie is back at the counter, and the coconuts are gone.] 

RICHIE

That was fun. But I don’t think coconuts have any place in this dish. Trust me, I really really wanted to put them in there, but it wouldn’t match well with the rest of the ingredients. If this was for myself? Hell yeah! Get some coconuts in there! But this isn’t for me. This is for Eddie. So no coconuts. Damn. 

[Richie pauses for a few more moments, drumming his fingers on the counter] 

RICHIE

What was I doing again? …. Right! Yeah, the tomatoes. I’m cooking tomatoes now. 

[Hard cut to Richie at the stove. He’s standing over a pan with chopped tomatoes in it, throwing in a seemingly random assortment of spices over them as they cook, singing to himself as he works.] 

RICHIE

Singing rollie pollie pollie penny a pinch. Singing rollie pollie pollie, penny a pinch! A rollie poll- wait that can’t be the lyrics. That can’t be right. Is it? 

[Richie puts down his spatula, pulling out his phone.] 

RICHE

…. Roll up a bowl or ball, a penny a pinch. Huh. Seriously? Wait. This is about a carnival game?? I always thought this was a joke about boobs. What the f*ck? 

MIKE

Richie.

RICHIE

What?

MIKE

Richie, the tomatoes. 

RICHIE

I know!! I know, I’m working. Jeez. 

[Richie goes back to moving the tomatoes around the pan, and whistling to himself] 

[FAST FORWARD. 

Richie has combined all of his ingredients together in a pan with the pasta to marry them. He flips everything a few times to mix it in the pan, shuffling the pan over the stove to get everything coated evenly. He is in the middle of a long winded Buddy Valastro impression. Aka, the cake boss] 

RICHIE

Put a little salt in there, bit of pepper. Badda-bing, Badda-boom. Youse got yourself a cake. Now I know what you’re thinking. Buddy! That aint a cake, that’s a pasta dish! And to that I say: F*ck you! I’m the cake boss! Youse saying I don’t know what a cake looks like? I can make a cake look like whatever I want! 

[Richie flips the pasta again, laughing at his own impression] 

RICHIE

You ever met that guy, Mikey? No? Good. You don’t want to. He’s a jack*ss. Am I allowed to say that here? Is this getting cut? Well too bad, already said it. F*ck that guy. Tried talking to him for 5 minutes at a party once. He talked the whole time. The. Whole. Time. I had to fake a bowel emergency to get out of there before I hung myself with one of the tablecloths. 

[Richie pulls the pan off of the stove, starting to slowly maneuver the pasta onto a plate] 

RICHIE

Hey Mike, did I ever tell you the story of the Rat King of Dunkin? Remind me to tell you the story about the Rat King. Actually, f*ck it, we got time now. So back when I was working at Dunkin Donuts- 

[FAST FORWARD. The meal is finally complete. It is a beautiful pasta dish, swirled into the center, with visible pieces of tomato, eggplant, some herb leaves, and capers. There is some extra pesto spread around the base of the dish in a visibly appealing pattern. There is a tiny french flag sticking out of the top of the pasta. To the side is two additional small plates. One has a croissant on it, and the other has a small side-salad.] 

RICHIE

Voila! My creation is complete! I give to you, Eddie-spaghetti. With additional side salad, mixed up by our talented and incredibly handsome health-nut Ben. Along with a croissant I stole from Stan. Now, we’re not going to show you Eddie’s live reaction on camera. This is a special treat, so I don’t want him to feel like he has to play up his reaction for an audience. But we will be giving you an update on our twitter as to whether or not Chef Kasprak gives this one his seal of approval, so you know if this is a good dish to prepare for _your_ neurotic basket case at home. So here’s the recipe! You start with… 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Eddie had been given some very peculiar instructions for his work day. 

It wasn’t odd for him to be sent out into the city, to meet with one of their clients. The most senior chefs of the kitchen often went off-site to talk about upcoming projects, especially if they were going to be the one in charge of leading the project. This time, he spoke to a bakery in the North End who was trying to add gluten-free cupcakes to their menu. Eddie, the kitchen authority on all things gluten free, agreed to go out and have a consultation meeting with them. Give them a few tips and pointers, decide whether or not the test kitchen was going to create some new gluten-free options to add to their menu, etc. 

But then after the meeting was over, and Eddie texted Bill that he was about to head back to the kitchen, Bill had a favor he needed Eddie to do for him. Mike had ordered a new laptop, one specifically for editing videos, as his research and his editing were starting to get too cluttered all stored into one computer. It would have taken at least 2-3 business days to ship to Mike, but since Eddie was already in the city, would he mind swinging by and picking it up? 

Seemed logical enough. And it would only take about another hour out of his day, and he had no deadlines coming up, so he agreed. Always nice to help out a friend. Bill emailed Richie all of the receipts and information he would need to pick up Mike’s laptop, and Eddie went on his way. 

One difficult conversation with a customer service agent later, who tried to tell Eddie his paperwork wasn’t enough to claim the item Mike had purchased, Eddie finally had the laptop. Due to the confusion, Eddie wasn’t done with that errand until about an hour and a half after setting out on his quest. But he had it, so he texted Bill again. 

Got the laptop. Coming back now. See you in a few. 

And that’s when Bev texted him. 

_‘Hey sweetie, sorry to bother you. But do you think you could pick up some vanilla beans from the grocery store for me on your way back?? We just ran out, and I need some before the end of the night. Please???? <3’ _

Eddie _really_ wanted to get back to the kitchen. He was starting to get hungry, and crabby. But still, he was a good friend. He liked helping his friends out. Even if it meant going out of his way again to do so. 

‘ _Sure. Anyone else need anything? Last errand of the day_.’ he sent back. 

‘ _Stan needs oat flour and honey comb. Richie wants root beer_ ,’ Bev texted. 

‘ _Does Richie need root beer_?’ Eddie inquired. 

‘ _No but he wants it. Your call_ ,’ Bev said, and sent a gif to him filled with exploding hearts. 

Eddie sighed, and went to the grocery store. 

It took him another hour out of his way to get to the only grocery store whose ingredients Eddie trusted, but in the end he had found the items requested of him. 

Then, Bill needed him to pick up a package at the post office. 

‘ _Bill. I will do this for you. But this has to be the last errand of the day. I need to get back and eat something before my blood sugar starts dropping_ ’ Eddie sent. 

‘ _Thanks, Eddie. That’s the last one, promise. Then you can wee wee wee all the way home_ ,’ Bill replied. 

‘ _Fuck you. I’m going to eat your package. Then we’ll see whose laughing_ ,’ Eddie texted. 

‘ _I’m sending that text to Richie without context_ ’

‘ _Do Not_ ’ 

So Eddie made his way back to the test kitchen, arms full of goods to deliver back to his friends. 

It had been a very long day. The sun was almost setting, Eddie hadn’t eaten lunch, and he was looking forward to being able to sit down for a few moments of peace to quietly enjoy the chicken salad he had waiting for him in the employee refrigerator. 

But the universe had other plans for him, it would seem. The moment he got into the building, Bev and Ben were already waiting for him. 

At first, Eddie thought it was them being nice, for making him run all over the city as their errand boy for the day. Ben took everything from Eddie’s arms, and Eddie had been about to thank him, when Beverly pulled out a sleeping mask. 

“Put this on,” she instructed, holding it out towards Eddie. 

Eddie glared at it like Bev had just offered him one of Richie’s kombucha scobies. 

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. 

“Oh. You’ve been keeping me out of the kitchen on purpose,” Eddie observed. He took the blindfold from Beverly, but didn’t put it on yet. “Can this wait until after I’ve had dinner?” 

“Nope!” Bev said, with a huge smile. “Trust me, it won’t take long.” 

And Eddie did trust her. So he sighed, put the blindfold on, and allowed himself to be led to a mystery location. 

Obviously, the location itself wasn’t the mystery. Eddie knew the building like the back of his hand. He was led up the stairs, past the kitchen, and into the common lounge. He couldn’t hear the sounds of any work going on, so assumed that most of the staff had been sent home early for the day. 

Eddie was slowly led by Bev into a chair. A proper, wooden chair. Not like the couches and stools that existed within the lounge. He could also tell my touch that there was a table placed in front of him. 

Eddie had started to grow concerned. Deeply concerned. His mind immediately flashed to the worst case scenario: the test kitchen had signed him up to be a celebrity guest on Fear Factor. There was a camera crew there, and when he opened his eyes he was going to see a giant bowl of bugs in front of him and he’d have to eat it to keep his job. 

“You ready, Eddie?” Bev asked, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. 

Eddie frowned deeply. “I don’t know. I don’t think I am?” 

“Relax, it’s okay. It’s a nice surprise. I promise,” Bev said reassuringly and took the blindfold off of him. 

Eddie kept his eyes shut tightly for a few moments, before nervously opening one of them. 

The table in front of him was a small one. It would be able to seat four at the most, but only contained one place set out. There was no plate in front of him yet, just a small sign in cursive that said ‘ _Reserved for Edward Kasprak_ ’. In the direct center of the table was one tasteful bouquet set in a glass vase. 

Eddie was almost too distracted by the table to notice Richie standing next to it. Then he caught the motion moving in his peripheral vision, and looked up. 

Richie was dressed like a ‘French Man’. Not the sort of outfit anyone who lives in France actually wears. No, the stereotypical one. With a striped shirt, red beret, matching red scarf around his neck, and a drawn on mustache. 

And there was accordion music playing softly in the background. Of course there was pre-recorded accordion music. 

“ ‘Allo, monsieur. Welcome to Chez le Loser,” Richie said in a heavy french accent. “I shall be your waiter this evening, Phillipe Garçon.” 

Eddie couldn’t help himself. The scene around him was so obscene, so stupid, he had to laugh. It bursted out of him like a cannon, curling in on himself slightly as he tried to settle himself. When he was back upright again he had managed to cut back to a chuckle, but couldn’t shake the broad smile on his face. 

“What are you doing?!” he asked, baffled. 

“Why I am serving you sir, but of c’ourse,” Richie replied, not dropping the character. “I would like to introduce tonight's sommelier to you, Benoit,” 

Ben appeared now, dressed just like Richie. 

‘ _Oh god that poor man, I am so sorry they roped you into this_ ,’ Eddie thought to himself, trying to express his sympathy for Ben through his facial expression. 

Despite the obvious spark of embarrassment, Ben held his own. “This is a Redoma Branco Niepoort white, from 2013,” he said. He did not make an attempt at a French accent, and Eddie respected him for that. 

Ben poured Eddie’s glass of wine for him, and placed the bottle in a small bucket of ice when he was done. 

“Thank you, Benoit,” said Eddie, picking up the glass and taking a sip of it. “Excellent recommendation.” 

Ben gave Eddie a gracious bow, laughing quietly to himself, before he went back to the other side of the lounge. 

“You may ‘ave noticed we do not have a menu tonight. That is because we only ‘ave one item on our menu. If it does not meet your refined palate you may toss it on the floor, and I shall ‘ave the restaurant shut down immediately,” Richie continued. 

Eddie laughed at that as well. He watched as Richie clapped his hands and Beverly appeared next to him with a large covered plate, also dressed in their ‘restaurant uniform’, mustache and all. 

‘ _Explains how they convinced Ben to do this_ ,’ thought Eddie. 

Bev waited with her hand on the handle at the top of the dome, until Richie set up the reveal. 

“Monsieur Kasprak, I give you… Eddie-Spaghetti.” 

Beverly lifted the silver cover, and stepped back to let Eddie get a full view of the plates. One specialty pasta, one small plate of salad, and one gluten-free croissant. And a tiny French flag sticking out of the top of the spaghetti on a toothpick. 

There was that stupid nickname that Eddie hated. But even that wasn’t enough to wipe the smile off of his face. Maybe it was because of how long it was taking him to process everything that was happening. He still hadn’t quite gotten past the mental image of Richie in the bad fake-french costume. 

Richie finally put the paper in Eddie’s hands. He pointed out the words on it, every single ingredient in all of the dishes on the table. 

“But of course, no meal is complete without the nutritional facts. Your menu, monsieur,” Richie said. 

Finally, Richie stood back at full height. Everyone in the room waited for Eddie to react. 

Eddie was speechless. All he could do was smile, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, looking in between the fake menu and the food in front of him. 

Finally, the silence became too long to bear. Richie leaned down a bit, dropping the French accent. “I know it looks great, but the food’s not going to stay warm forever. You might want to get in on that.” 

“I’m getting to it,” Eddie replied, finally broken from his trance. He wiped one of his eyes with his sleeve, turning to look back at all of the other people gathered now. All of their friends standing off to the side, excitedly observing. “What is going on? Did I forget it’s my birthday or something?” 

“We just noticed you haven’t been feeling great lately. Thought you might need some cheering up,” Bev explained. 

“It was Richie’s idea, but the rest of us helped,” Bill added in after. 

“Guys...” Eddie sound, throat closing up slightly with emotion. “Wow. Thank you. This is really nice…” 

“I made the spaghetti by myself,” Richie piped up suddenly, then scowled at himself. Even to him that sounded too much like an 11 year old desperate for an adult figure’s approval. So he cleared his throat, and tried again. “Stan made the croissant, and Ben made the salad. But I came up with the main course so don’t blame anyone else if it sucks.” 

“I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” Eddie said. He sat back upright in his chair, picking up his utensils so he could start eating. He hadn’t really had the time to properly read the ingredient list, but went ahead anyhow. He knew Richie had done his research. He didn’t need to worry. 

Eddie took one more moment to appreciate the plating of the food, before he spun some strands of pasta around his fork, and took a bite. 

Richie shifted from foot to foot while he waited for Eddie’s feedback. He didn’t want to rush him, but the anticipation was starting to build and Richie wasn’t sure how much more he could take of it. 

“I know it’s not as good as anything else you eat or you make for yourself. I’m not used to cooking gluten-free pasta so. Yeah maybe that wasn’t done right. You don’t have to eat the rest of it if you don’t like it-” 

“Richie, it’s perfect.” 

Richie’s heart stopped in his chest. He had started to nervously look anywhere else in the room, but his gaze snapped back to Eddie when he spoke up. He could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck, desperately trying to push it back down. 

“You don’t have to bullshit me, Eds. Just liking it is fine,” Richie said. 

Eddie shook his head, and took another bite. He savored that one as well, before looking up to Richie. He was still smiling, but looked so… soft, now. Peaceful. 

“I’m serious, Rich. This is one of my favorite dishes I’ve ever had. You did good. Thank you.” 

Richie thought that his favorite look on Eddie’s face was the one he got when he got riled up about something. The cute way his eyebrows scrunched together on his head, and his eyes lit up with a chaotic fire that threatened to burn everything in its path. That was no longer true. This was Richie’s favorite look now. 

Richie was in trouble. He was staring too long. He couldn’t get his mouth to work for once in his life. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to kneel down next to Eddie. To hold his face in his hands, and run his thumbs over it while he tried to memorize every curve in his smile. 

Danger, Will Robinson. Danger. Abort. 

Richie had to say something. So he just said the first thing on his mind. 

“I’ll make it again for you. Any time you want.” 

Richie inwardly cursed at himself the moment it came out of his mouth. He had to reel it back in a bit more. 

“I mean, you also have a recipe. Or, you don’t have it right now, but I can give it to you. Obviously. But I could also walk you through the steps some time. And tell you where the ingredients came from. If you want,” Richie said, trying to play it off cool. 

“I’d like that very much,” Eddie said, in a soft voice. He then laughed a bit, going in for another fork full of food. “God, I can’t believe you actually did something nice. Like, genuinely nice.” 

Playful ribbing. Richie could work with that. 

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. And don’t tell anyone else I did this. I have a reputation to maintain,” Richie said, his usual lazy grin returning to his features. 

Eddie continued with his meal, covering his mouth politely with his hand while he smiled with a mouthful of food. Once he got it down, he turned back to the rest of the room. 

“Could you guys at least get some snacks or something to eat while we do this? It’s super weird to have a room full of people watching me eat alone,” he said. 

No one objected. They left, returned with various spare bags of pretzels and spare treats they had around the kitchen, all joining together. 

It felt like something Eddie had never had before. Something that he had heard described many times. But it never sounded real, never sounded like something he could actually achieve. 

It felt like family. Like Home. 

Surrounded by warmth, and love, and homemade cooking. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Eddie thought that his dreams were safe that night, since he had been overwhelmed by a love and affection for his friends that was in no way sexual. He felt supported, loved, and so thankful for the people in his life. 

But that night, Dream-Richie brought him to France, and made love to him at the top of the Eiffel Tower. 

The next day, Eddie fired off a text at Richie. 

' _Thanks again for the pasta. I really enjoyed it. But you have to promise me you'll never wear any costumes around the kitchen. Ever again. I'm still haunted by it._ ' 

_'Damn. There goes my wardrobe plans for casual Friday. I was planning on cooking up a whole seafood buffet in a sailor costume,_ ' Richie texted back. 

Eddie knew as soon as he saw the words that Dream-Richie was about to gain a new fictional profession. He pressed the screen of the phone against his forehead, shut his eyes tightly, and let out a deeply frustrated hum of disapproval. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

About a week later, Eddie didn’t need Bill to explain why he received an email asking Eddie to meet him in his office.

Eddie knew why Bill needed to see him. He’d been keeping a countdown for nearly half a year. 

And now the time had arrived. Richie was getting close to the end of his initial contract. It was time to either sign him on again, or let him go from the channel. 

Eddie prepared the night before by setting up two lists for himself. Classic critical management, Pros and Cons of letting Richie stay. 

He started on the cons. That was easiest. 

Cons: 

\- Richie wasn’t an impressive chef. He was _decent_ , could hold his own, but there’s only so far you can go on natural talent alone. He lacked discipline. 

\- Richie had nearly said something that crossed the lines of political correctness more than several times during his stay. Bill had to ask him to delete a few tweets that came across as way too mean. If he stayed, it was inevitable that he’d say something as a ‘joke’ that would get all of them in trouble. 

\- Most importantly, if Richie stayed, Eddie was going to have to do something he _really_ did not want to do. Bill was an imaginative fucker, there was no telling what task he had lined up to punish Eddie for the stink he raised when Richie was hired. 

But then there was the pasta dish. Richie had just done something incredibly kind for Eddie. It was a bit silly, but it had honestly raised his spirits. 

Richie was thoughtful. One for the pros column. 

Then he crossed it out. He couldn’t take his personal feelings into this. This was his job. It was a professional matter, anything on the list had to be strictly professional arguments. 

Richie worked well with everyone. There. That was an appropriate point for the pros list. Everyone liked him. Even when he was difficult to work with, they all managed it and produced good results from their team-ups. 

Obviously, another big pro was the fact Richie was a major driving force behind their current channel success. Richie was a never-ending mine of ideas for content. Any of the ideas he had for shows, either for himself or for others, were always very well received and did well statistically. Eddie put that down in the pros column, and put a star next to it. 

But then there was Richie’s problem with keeping up professional work. They had managed to make it through half a year, but who was to say that would continue in the future? How would they explain it to their fans if Richie suddenly left the show some day with no explanation? 

Not to mention how tired Richie was starting to look. He was still picking up other projects besides working on the channel, tons of comedy work and some stand up. Even some cooking-channel guest spots. He was stretching himself thin, and Eddie knew the signs of oncoming burnout when he saw it. Eventually, if they kept growing, Richie would have to start choosing between the channel and his higher paying work. They couldn’t afford Richie full time. 

Another two for the cons column, with big stars next to them. 

By the time Eddie had gone through every viable point he could think to make, he had two lists in front of them. Almost equal in length. With no idea where to go from there. 

Eddie still wasn’t entirely sure of his choice by the time he went into Bill’s office, and sat down. 

“I guess you know why you’re here, right?” asked Bill. 

“Richie’s contract, right? We’re almost at 6 months now,” Eddie said. That got a nod from Bill, and Eddie sighed. 

“Yup. What’s it going to be?” Bill finally asked, giving Eddie his full attention. “Still your call.” 

Eddie took in a breath, and held it. 

Richie was irresponsible. He was immature. He could be selfish at times. Unpredictable. Wild. Dangerous. The safest route was letting Richie go before anything bad could happen. To appreciate the time they had together for what it was, instead of trying to push their luck. 

But then Eddie thought about how things would be without Richie around. How slow the days seemed to go any day he wasn’t in town for filming. How Eddie would check the calendar, to see how soon Richie would be back. 

Richie was an asshole. But he could also be kind. It wasn’t a strictly professional decision, but Eddie didn’t know what he’d do without him around. 

He didn’t want to go back to how his life was before Richie Tozier appeared in it. But was he willing to go through whatever hell Bill had concocted for him, in order to keep Richie. 

Eddie let out the breath he had been holding, shoulders sagging. 

“Bev would kill me if I said no. And I guess the channel’s been doing pretty well with him around. So… yeah. He can stay,” said Eddie. 

Bill pointed at him, grinning from ear to ear triumphantly. 

“See!! I told you! I told you you’d change your mind. I _knew_ it!” Bill exclaimed. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie droned out, unamused by Bill’s victory. “You win. He’s not that bad. I guess.” 

“You know what Eddie? I’m proud of you. It takes a lot for someone to admit they’re wrong about something. Glad you’re not being stubborn just to make a point,” Bill said, walking over and giving Eddie a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’ll have a talk with Richie, and draw up a renewal when you two get back from your trip.” 

“Back from our _what_?” 

“Oh. You didn’t forget, did you? The part where, if you changed your mind, I get to send you anywhere I want in the world. With whoever I want. To shoot a special off-site location episode,” Bill responded, with a sly self-congratulatory smirk. 

“No. I remembered I just... didn’t think that was going to happen so soon. You seriously planned out a trip _already_?” 

“Everything besides renting the car. You’re leaving in two weeks, bud. Just enough time to get everything you need packed, and to give Myra a proper heads up.”

“Have you even talked to Richie about this yet? How do you know he’s going to want to go?” Eddie asked, desperately looking for any loophole he could to slide out of his agreement. 

“No. But don’t worry. He’s going to love it. I actually got the idea when he brought it up a few weeks ago. I got Mike to do some research into it and got in touch with some experts. This might just be our best video yet,” Bill said, going back to his desk so he could immediately commence with operation ‘Payback-for-making-me-listen-to-Eddie-complain-nonstop’. 

“Alright fine. Am I allowed to know what we’re doing before we leave? Or do I have to show up on site and start shoveling pig shit on command?” Eddie asked. He wasn’t sure whether knowing beforehand would help or not, but couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

Bill looked far too pleased with himself, sitting behind his desk. He let the silence sink in for a bit, building dramatic tension, before he announced his evil scheme. 

“You and Richie... are going noodling.” 

“... I have no idea what that is. But as long as it doesn’t involve interacting with nature in any capacity, I’m fine with it.” 

\- - - - - - - - 

**Noodling**. Noun, informal. Fishing for catfish using one's bare hands. Practiced primarily in the southern United States. 

**Method**

Although the concept of catching fish with only the use of the arm in the water is simple, the process of noodling is more complicated. The choice of catfish as the prey is not arbitrary, but comes from the circumstances of their habitat. During the spawn, catfish will dig or enter a hole underneath a structure submerged in the water. The female will lay the eggs in the hole and the male will guard the eggs. When the eggs become fry, they will leave and the male will also leave the hole. To begin, a noodler goes underwater to depths ranging from only a few feet to twenty feet and places their hand inside a discovered catfish hole. If all goes as planned, the catfish will swim forward and latch onto the fisherman's hand, usually as a defensive maneuver, in order to try to escape the hole. If the fish is particularly large, the noodler can hook the hand around its gills.

Most noodlers have spotters who help them bring the catfish in, either to shore or to their boat; noodling in pairs is considered important for safety, and also makes it a more social activity, with noodling partners often forming long-term partnerships.

A typical weight for a flathead catfish caught by noodling is 40 lb (18 kg)

**Dangers**

Noodling can result in superficial cuts and minor wounds to the noodler. This can be reduced by wearing gloves and other protective clothing. Losing fingers is also a risk, whether from the bite or infection. Most holes are deep enough that diving is needed, so there can be a danger of drowning. A person with confident swimming abilities may be caught off guard by the sudden added strain of carrying a large fish to the surface. Spotters can alleviate this danger, but it is still present. A wounded noodler ten to twenty feet underwater might not be able to return safely to the surface and may drown. Clothes may get tangled or snagged on roots or rocks, so some noodlers wear only denim shorts.

The greatest physical threat posed to noodlers, however, comes from other forms of aquatic life found in catfish holes. Far more dangerous than catfish are alligators, snakes, beavers, muskrats and snapping turtles, who will take over abandoned catfish holes as homes of their own. Deaths have been reported in many states, most notably Florida, Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana as the wildlife is particularly stacked against human entry in waters greater than three foot depth. More than one death in a singular incident was reported in Oklahoma in 2009 and later confirmed by Field and Stream, those deaths were due to a nearby dam structure causing surging water currents that overpowered noodling anglers. Both men involved during the practice had been confirmed as noodling when they were unfortunately killed. Neither of the deceased Oklahoma individuals were determined to be wearing life safety vests or flotation devices when their bodies were found according to Oklahoma State troopers.


	6. Main Course part 1: Buffet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie head off on their road trip to Georgia, to go noodling for catfish. 
> 
> Disaster strikes along the way though, as Eddie comes to a breaking point in his marriage. He makes a discovery about his life and his childhood, and Richie tries his best to support him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING:   
> This chapter is gonna get heavy with Eddie and Myra's conversation! Warning for use of manipulative tactics, heavy mentions of Sonia's A+ parenting, and Eddie getting real real sad. But it's all gonna be ok in the end don't you worry. 
> 
> Hitting you with another TWO PARTER because this story keeps growing beyond my control!! But again, I hope the wait was worth it. Not going to be any explicit smut in these chapters, we're in the healing and falling in love stage of things. But I PROMISE you I'm giving these boys the dick they deserve in the final chapter. A h-wink. 
> 
> Song mentioned in the car scene with Eddie and Richie is Dancing on my own, by Calum Scott https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7BgY_wTNZA

“Uh. Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me, Bill.” 

“What? Richie, come on. You’re the one who brought up the idea.” 

“As a joke, dude. I was  _ joking _ . Remember? Comedian? 95 percent of what comes out of my mouth is bullshit.” 

There were many, many reasons why Richie did not want to go on Bill’s noodling trip. 

Richie was not what you might call an ‘outdoorsman’. Sure, as a kid he had lived in some suburbs with forests around it, so he had spent a lot of time outdoors. He played in ponds, chased frogs down abandoned train tracks, and climbed giant piles of dirt. But the only reason he did any of that was because there was literally nothing else to do besides roll down dirt mountains. 

He was an adult now. He could choose to live anywhere he wanted, and technology had come a long way. So now the way he chose to spend his days was in the manner of a civilized city dweller. He watched the travel channel, so he could see other people going out and doing crazy shit in the wild from the comfort of his couch. Then he ordered delivery, so he wouldn’t have to set foot out of his apartment to get fresh food. 

The closest Richie had gotten to nature for the past decade was the one time his uber accidentally dropped him off next to Central Park instead of the building he had been looking for. 

Ben was the one who took regular trips out on a sailboat to gather ‘inspiration’ for his poems or whatever he did. Mike climbed mountains. Several mountains. Just because he saw a mountain online and thought, ‘ _ Fuck, I need to climb that thing _ ’. Richie was a pasty sack of bones and saturated grease that sometimes got lost in grocery stores that were too big. 

Richie called upon the spirit of Eddie Kasprak, analyzed all of the risks, and realized that the situation was a big ‘No Bueno’ any way he sliced it. 

There was no way he could do it. No way. If he tried, he was going to look like an idiot. 

Richie had a complicated relationship with making an ass of himself. He did it so often, most people thought that he had no problem with it. But what they didn’t know was that his idiocy was honed down to a very specific science. It was a finely tuned orchestra of covering up for his insecurities. 

If Richie made a joke at his own expense it was okay for other people to laugh at it. Because if anyone laughed at him, it meant Richie’s attempt at humor was a success. That was a win. You’re only a loser when you try to do something in earnest, fail at it, and get mocked by anyone who sees how much you fucked up a genuine attempt. 

You can’t lose anything if you never try. So Richie made a habit of not trying new things. 

He never won anything either, but he didn’t mind that. No risk was worth no reward. 

He wasn’t miserable. He was  _ fine _ . 

Or maybe he was miserable. Just a little bit. But he would be even worse if he ended up getting his leg bitten off by a 50 pound fish, then subsequently mocked off of the internet for not being “man” enough to catch a fish with his bare hands. 

It was times like this that reminded Richie what a piece of shit he was. Hadn’t he once told Eddie  _ ‘Who cares what people think of you? Fuck the comments? Failure sells online _ ?’ 

And the award for Hypocrite of the year goes to: Richie Tozier. 

_ Eddie _ had agreed to go noodling. Richie almost couldn’t believe it when Bill told him, but one text to Eddie confirmed it. 

Eddie. Who wouldn’t let other people’s cell phones touch his ear because they were too unsanitary. Who wouldn’t take the public subway system because too many sick people commuted on it. Eddie, lord of preventative sanitation. 

Eddie was on board for going noodling. And Richie didn’t want to, because he was afraid some 12 year old anonymous dickhead was going to call him a pansy for not being the perfect image of a rugged alphamale. 

But that was the difference between them. Eddie was brave. He was smart, and a spitfire, and he could do anything he set his mind to with just a small amount of encouragement and support. He was a firecracker. All he needed was a small spark, and he’d explode off into the stars. 

Richie was like a sock that had soaked up sewer water. If you tried to light it on fire it sizzled up and made everything in the immediate vicinity smell like raw shit. 

Eddie would be better off if Ben went with him. Or Bev. At least they would be able to protect him if a rogue alligator tried to swallow Eddie whole. 

Well, okay. Richie had to admit to himself, if he saw an alligator charging at Eddie full speed, he might be able to leap into action. Do something crazy to distract the creature’s attention and become its new target. That was in the realm of possibility. 

It was hard to admit that the idea of being surrounded by dangerous wildlife wasn’t the part about the trip that scared Richie the most. Animals could do some damage, but they were easy to understand. Most of the time, as long as you didn’t get in their way or fuck their shit up, they left you alone. 

It was the people that Richie was scared of confronting. Southern folk. 

Richie made a habit of avoiding the south of the USA like the plague. Sure, he had done some comedy shows down there, but it had always been in the very small liberal pockets that popped up here and there. 

People in the south had a very distinct idea of what a ‘real man’ was. How he spoke. How he dressed. How he carried himself. As far in the closet as he was, Richie still didn’t measure up to what a true man was supposed to be. 

Richie had blown his cover a few select times over the course of his life. Stupid mistakes. Asking to spend too much time with another man, ‘joke-flirting’ with too much sincerity. Staring too long. Each and every time someone had realized what he was, and called him out for it. 

And he was sure, he just knew, he wouldn’t even get to the point of slipping up before he was found out down south. Southern people were trained hunters. They didn’t need to catch you in the act, they could look through you and know something was wrong with you. 

And Richie really, really, really, did not need that in his life. 

Richie had made up his mind. He wasn’t going. No way. 

Bill tried to convince him, but he couldn’t get Richie to budge. And he wasn’t going to push Richie into it if he wasn’t up for the task. So he just deflated, looking defeated, and said “All right. I can’t make you go if you don’t want to. I’ll ask around, see if Ben can move his schedule around to make the trip.” 

It was better this way. Ben was a man’s man. He was perfect for work like this. The video would be a huge success, and everyone would win. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Richie and Eddie ran into each other in the hall only a day after that conversation. 

Richie had been dreading that moment. It was going to suck to break it to Eddie that he wasn’t going to be going on the trip with him. But Richie had his excuse ready (‘Yeah, I’ve got a few interviews lined up that week! Couldn’t reschedule them. I’m super bummed out, be sure to send me plenty of pics’). 

“Can you believe the shit Bill’s making us do?” Eddie had asked him. “I can’t believe you told him about noodling and got the idea in his head. Does that even make sense for the channel? I mean sure, we’re going to be cooking the catfish after. But catching them? What is this, the discovery network?” 

Richie felt his stomach clenching. He swallowed, breathing evenly to try to keep its contents inside of his body. 

He could do this. Let Eddie down gently, fix the problem. 

“Actually…” Richie started, but he was too slow to keep up with Eddie. 

“I mean have you actually read anything about noodling? Do you know how fucking  _ dangerous  _ it is? There’s some states where it isn’t even legal! I don’t care what Bill says. I’ll show up, I’ll be on screen, but I am  _ not _ going in the water. Absolutely not,” Eddie continued. 

“Yeah… but, Eds-” 

“I don’t think I’ve even touched a live fish before, honestly. This is going to be the  _ worst _ .” 

“Eddie-” 

“Wait, wait,” said Eddie. He held his hands up, cutting Richie off one last time. “I’m not trying to bring the mood down, or whatever. I… look, I’m actually trying to lead into something right now.” 

He had started the conversation with his usual disgruntled energy, but suddenly shifted. 

“I mean, it is going to be the worst. I’m not looking forward to filming. But… is it weird that I’m sort of excited about this too?” he asked. He smiled slightly now, looking off to the side bashfully. “Because we’re only going to be filming for one day, and the rest of it is going to be driving. Maybe some recorded shots on a hand-held camera while we drive for extra content. I talked to Bill, and we have enough room in our schedule to take some small detours and go sight-seeing. I know it's for work and all, but… I don’t know. It sort of feels like going on vacation?” 

Eddie looked back up to Richie’s face, now smiling broadly. Beaming with joy. 

“And I think it feels like vacation because you’re going to be there too. I was dreading this trip when Bill first told me about it, but then I got to thinking about the two of us driving down together and I thought, fuck, this might actually be fun? Like, _ really _ fun. And honestly, dude, I’m pretty excited about it now. So uh… thanks. For doing this with me. I can’t wait.” 

Eddie was looking up at Richie, with those gigantic, sparkling eyes of his. Smiling like Richie had just given Eddie a winning lottery ticket. 

Richie’s heart clenched. 

Eddie laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Sorry for cutting you off, I just had to get that out before I lost the will to say it. What were you going to say?” he asked. 

“... I can’t wait either!” Richie blurted out. 

“Awesome!” Eddie replied, grinning widely again. “I’ll send you some links to the detours I’ve been looking up! We could easily get to the NASCAR hall of fame on our way down, and I hear that Charlotte has a new tapas restaurant that’s gotten very good reviews. Oh! And we could get to Washington D.C. and...” 

Richie stood and listened to Eddie go off about all of the places he wanted to visit on their trip. 

With a big fake smile plastered on his face. Internally screaming at himself. 

Stupid.  _ STUPID _ . Asshole.  _ Shit _ . 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

The trip down to Georgia was scheduled to take 10 days. Four days driving down, one day to meet the professional noodlers and make a game plan, one day for shooting, and four days back up to Boston. 

Eddie and Richie took one car down on their own, while Mike and the film crew took a second van to haul down all of the video equipment they would need. 

Mike was stoked about it. All of the filming he had done up to that point had been on his own. Now he had a small group of people working with him, and multiple cameras for different angles to film from. He even picked up an under-water camera to play with, even if Bill told him the water might be too murky to get any decent shots with. 

Eddie was more than happy to complain about the trip to anyone who would listen. Mike had already done the research on the project, and had shared his findings with them, but the section of his information covering the dangers of noodling was not comprehensive enough for Eddie’s taste. So he had compiled his own research and put it into a 12 page packet. This packet included pictures and descriptions of dangerous animals in the rivers of Georgia, how long a human could safely hold their breath underwater, the warning signs of an infected bite wound, basic first aid practices, advanced first aid practices, and how to create an emergency smoke signal in case they lost cell phone service. 

Mike was passionately excited about going down. Eddie was passionately disdainful about the experience. And Richie was trying not to be miserable. 

It got easier to perk up once they actually set off on the road. 

Eddie drove first, and spent the first half of the day going off about his concerns for the trip. 

“Did you read the packet? Please tell me you read the packet. They have wolf spiders.  _ Wolf spiders, _ Richie. They don’t even spin webs, they just jump at their prey. Like  _ wolves _ . And-” 

Once Eddie vented out most of his panic, he calmed down enough to let Richie take the wheel. 

That’s when they started to actually have fun. Richie synced his phone up to the music player in the car, and started a playlist with some of his favorite songs on it. 

Shockingly, Eddie seemed to have a very similar interest in music. He knew most of the songs, and before long the two of them were belting out classics from the 80s and 90s together. 

Richie had a terrible singing voice, and Eddie wasn’t much better. But when Eddie got to a part of a song he knew by heart, tilted his head back and screwed his eyes shut and shouted the lyrics at the top of his lungs, Richie wanted to bottle up that sound and keep it forever. 

He couldn’t stop smiling. Could barely keep his eyes on the road. He wanted to watch as Eddie flailed, pretended like he was drumming or doing air guitar to the musical interludes. Richie had actually stopped watching the road for too long at one point and had almost missed an exit they were supposed to take, but he managed to regain his bearings and keep them on track. 

They had just finished Take on Me, both of them a bit breathless from the gusto they had displayed while singing along with it. Both grinning, high on good vibes, merrily waiting to see what the next song was. 

The song was taking a little bit to start up. That was okay, no problem. Bad service, the playlist was taking a second to shuffle. Buffer time. 

And then it started. Very slow, gentle piano music. Huh. 

Richie took a look to his side to see Eddie’s reaction. Maybe he knew which song this was? Apparently not, from the lack of recognition on his face. But he was still smiling, seemed to enjoy it. So Richie let it continue. 

And that’s when the lyrics hit. 

‘ _ Somebody said you got a new friend. But does she love you better than I can _ ?’ 

Oh god. Ohhhh god. No no no no no no no no no. 

Richie’s hand shot out to the side, trying to take his phone back from Eddie’s hand. 

Eddie was too quick, yanking the phone away and hiding it under his arm before Richie could get it. 

“What the fuck, man?” he asked, scowling now. 

Richie tried not to sound hysterical or terrified. 

‘ _ And there’s a big black sky over my town _ ’ 

“No idea how that got on there!!! Huge mood killer, let’s just skip it-” 

‘ _ I know where you’re at, I bet she’s around. _ ’ 

“It’s fine? I’m getting tired anyhow, I like how this sounds. Who sings this?” said Eddie. 

Richie’s fingers had a vice grip on the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure if he had started to sweat or not, and didn’t have the mental capacity to fact check that. 

Richie was in trouble. Deep shit. Because apparently he had forgotten that he had snuck  _ this  _ song into his 80s playlist, instead of adding it to its own playlist called ‘Songs that Richie listens to when he feels like getting drunk and crying by himself because he’s a gay idiot with feelings’. 

A song that had given him the Pavlovian reaction of crying  _ every _ time he heard it. 

His body was already starting to betray him. He could feel the threat of tears pooling up around the corners of his eyes. No good. 

‘ _ And yeah I know its stupid. But I just gotta see it for myself _ .’ 

“Fuck if I know!” Richie exclaimed, pasting a smile on his face. “Some guy! Big singer guy. Big sad guy over here! Damn, lighten up buddy, would ya?” 

“Hmm,” Eddie replied. He didn’t seem keyed into Richie’s internal breakdown. He just had his eyes closed, listening to the music calmly. 

_ ‘I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her. Oh oh oh. And I’m right over here, why can’t you see me. Oh oh oh.’  _

Richie’s head was spinning. He was driving in a car, sitting right next to Eddie. 

Eddie. A straight, married man. Who had big brown eyes, and dimples, and whose forehead wrinkled up when he thought deeply about something. Who swore like the devil, with a temper to match it. Who laughed at Richie’s jokes, and shook when he laughed too hard. Who stood too close to Richie when they had a roomful of space around them. Who fit perfectly in Richie’s arms, and whose face pressed right into Richie’s collarbones the few times they had hugged each other. 

He was right there. And Richie wanted to reach out, so badly, and hold his hand. Just hold it. But he couldn’t. He’d never be able to do something like that. 

Richie opened his mouth, and shouted along with the lyrics. 

“AND I’M GIVING IT MY ALL, BUT I’M NOT THE GUY YOU’RE TAKING HOME!” 

Eddie’s eyes snapped open, jumping and holding a hand to his chest. 

“ _ Jesus _ Christ, Rich!” he said. 

Richie had to do it. He had to ruin the song. Because if he took it seriously, if he let it play out, he was going to cry. And that would be driving impared, which wouldn’t be safe. 

“What is wrong with you?” Eddie asked after, grumbling as Richie laughed just as loudly. 

“What? I thought we were having a good time,” he said dismissively. 

Eddie opened his mouth to shoot an argument back at him, but stopped when his own phone started to buzz. He sighed, and hit the pause button on Richie’s phone. 

“Sorry, that’s Myra,” he said. 

“Again?” Richie asked. 

Myra had already called two times that day. And each time she called, Eddie would be on the phone for at least 15 minutes insisting everything was fine, and begging her to let him go. 

“Again,” said Eddie, before accepting the call and putting the phone to his ear. “Hey, Myra. How ar-.... Yes. I’m fine. … Yes, I took the Dramamine….” 

The phone call was a blessing and a curse. 

It sucked, because it meant Eddie’s good mood was about to get crushed down again. He always looked exhausted when he spoke on the phone with her, tensed up and anxious. But it did give Richie the chance to steal his phone back from Eddie, and remove the song off of the playlist. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

It was only the first day of their trip, and Eddie was about to lose it. 

He had thought the worst part of the trip was going to be the noodling. Absolutely disgusting, dangerous, and an all around bad time, even if he didn’t end up going in the water to do it. 

But no. The worst part was the phone calls. Every two hours, with text messages in between. 

It wasn’t anything new. Myra always called him throughout the day, even when they were both local. She called more often any time Eddie went on a trip, but in the past he had been able to soldier on through it. 

He didn’t know what was different this time. She was just doing what she always did. Going over what medications he brought with him, reminding him when to take them and how much, asking him where he was, what time he was going to go to sleep, when he’d be waking up, what he was eating, everything. 

But now every time he heard her voice, he felt like someone had packed him full of earthworms. Something was twisting around in him, squirming, and he _ hated _ it. He wanted to peel his skin off, even if the mental image of that sent him into a completely different type of panic. 

It was late. Eddie had gone outside of his hotel room to get some fresh air, after he stripped the sheets off of the bed and put his own covers on. He had to get whatever invisible filth had collected on the hotel sheets out of his lungs. 

He was standing under a street lamp when she called. He had hoped she was already in bed, but of course she wasn’t. Because Eddie hadn’t confirmed that he was going to sleep yet, and she wasn’t going to stop calling him until he did. 

Their conversation started as it always did. Greetings, reminders of what his nightly prescriptions were, and which eventually led into Myra’s new favorite thing to argue about. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know. You could drive home right now. Your boss can’t make you do this, Eddie-bear,” Myra said. 

Eddie scowled. “Yes, Myra. I actually do have to do this. We’ve already paid the camera crew and have rented the equipment. We’d be throwing money out the window,” he argued. 

“But it’s not  _ safe _ . There’s safe ways of catching fish, and what you’re doing is dangerous on purpose. I don’t want you to go,” she said. 

“I’m not even  _ going  _ in the water. I’m going to be perfectly safe, on shore, the whole time. It’s going to be fine,” Eddie insisted. 

“You don’t know that! What if one of the catfish jumps out of someone’s arms and hits you? It’s not even safe on shore. There’s too much dangerous wildlife. I looked up those ‘professionals’ you said you were working with, they look like country hicks-” 

“Christ, Myra,” Eddie cut in. “You can’t just say that-... look. I can’t back out of this. Okay? I  _ can’t _ . So the best we can do is just try to get through it. I’ll be home in a little over a week, then I never have to do this again.” 

“I think you should go to your doctor, when you get back,” Myra said, just as anxious as ever. Not calmed in the slightest by Eddie’s reassurance. “Even if you don’t think you feel sick, I think you need to see a doctor right after. To make sure you didn’t catch anything.” 

Eddie paused. Suddenly, he had a thought. 

He had been meaning to talk to her about this after he got back from his trip, but the segway was already there. He had a moment to bring it up. 

So he took it. 

“Actually… I don’t think that’s a bad idea. There’s something I wanted to have done at the doctor’s anyhow,” he said. 

“Oh?” she asked, interest piqued. Then she went right back into nervousness. “Is there something wrong? Are you not feeling well? You shouldn’t have gone on this trip if you-” 

“I’m fine, Myra. I think,” Eddie explained, and started pacing. “I think… I want to get an allergy test done.” 

The phone was silent for a few moments. Then Myra responded. 

“An Allergy test? Eddie, we already know what you’re allergic to. Do you think you have a new allergy?” 

“No,” he said, and shook his head even if she couldn’t see it. “Actually I… I want to see what I’m  _ not _ allergic to.”

Eddie tried not to pay attention to youtube comments. Most of them were horrendous, and even some of the kinder ones could get weird. But one day he actually looked at them, read through the list to see what people thought of his videos. 

And there it was. One popular comment on his restaurant nightmares video, insinuating that he had accidentally eaten one of the ingredients he was definitely allergic to, with no reaction. 

It had apparently started somewhat of a group of conspiracy theorists within the fan community. Bill had tried to hide that information from Eddie, but he still found out about it. 

His first reaction had been denial. Sure. Maybe he had accidentally eaten something with egg as an ingredient. But it didn’t mean he had to avoid everything with eggs in it. He ate baked goods. Baked goods had eggs in it, but something about the preparation and baking of the eggs made it so his body could stomach them without a flare up. Surely something about the salad dressing had another ingredient that cancelled out the eggs. 

But then he started thinking about more, and more. And he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

When had been the last time he had an allergic reaction to something? Obviously not within recent memory. He was too well trained, too good at avoiding foods he couldn’t eat. But he hadn’t always been perfect. Could he remember ever having a reaction as a child? 

Sometimes he screwed up as a kid. He cooked something for his mom that had fish in it, or dairy, and his mom would refuse to let him eat it because he was allergic to it, and he’d have to cook something else for himself while she ate in the living room. 

But back in the kitchen, on his own, he had tasted the food before he served it on a plate. He always had, back then. And his tongue didn’t start itching and his eyes didn’t start watering until after he had been sent back into the kitchen to make an appropriate meal for himself. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had to know for sure. 

“Eddie, what are you talking about?” Myra asked, confused. “It’s not possible for food allergies to go away.” 

“Yeah, but ... what if I was never allergic to those things in the first place?” he asked back. 

And Myra laughed. She laughed at him, and Eddie felt like someone had just landed a punch into his stomach. 

“You’ve had the same food allergies for as long as I’ve known you, Eddie. You’ve had them since you were a kid. Of  _ course _ you’re actually allergic to what we have on your list.” 

“Yeah, but I’ve never been tested for it. I want to get a test,” Eddie insisted. 

“You don’t need to be tested,” Myra shot back. “Do you even know how they do those tests? They shoot you up full of irritants, on purpose, to try to get you to have an allergic reaction. You’d be out of work for weeks, and I’d have to stay home to take care of you.” 

This was the point in the conversation where Eddie was supposed to give up. Myra wasn’t leaving room for any debate. 

“But I  _ want _ to get tested,” he said instead. He kept his voice firm, free hand curling up into a fist. 

“ _ No _ , you don’t,” Myra said, firmly. “It’s getting late, Eddie-bear. You need to get to bed. When are you going to be up tomorrow?” 

Eddie snapped. 

“Myra, you’re not  _ listening to me _ !!” he said, slowly increasing in volume until he was nearly shouting into the phone. “God, would you just listen! For once! I am  _ going to _ get the allergen test. And I don’t need your permission to do that!” 

“Edward, stop yelling at me. You know I don’t like it when you yell,” Myra replied. 

“Well too fucking bad! I’m allowed to be upset right now!” Eddie shouted. He paced up and down the sidewalk as he talked, too pent up to keep still. “You always do this! Every single time I try to tell you something you don’t like, you tell me I  _ can’t _ and change the conversation before I can defend myself! It fucking sucks!” 

“If you want to go to get the allergy test so badly, fine!” Myra said. She was shouting now too, clearly upset. “When you get back, I’ll take you to the doctor, and we’ll-” 

Eddie knew that Myra didn’t actually want to bring him to the doctor. She was lying to him again. She was pretending to be supportive, buying time until she could convince him out of it. 

“I’m going alone. And I’m having the results sent to the test kitchen,” he said. 

Myra didn’t say anything for a few moments. Eddie knew what was going to happen before it started. 

Gentle sobs started coming through the phone. 

He felt like a terrible person. He knew he should have been concerned about hurting his wife’s feelings. But hearing the sound of it made him feel sick. That feeling of worms crawling around inside of him returned. 

“Eddie… I’m trying my hardest to make you happy. I don’t know what you want from me,” she sobbed out. 

What did Eddie want. 

He thought about it. Really considered it. 

Did he want to fix his marriage with Myra? He could ask her to go to a couple’s counselor together. They could settle their issues in a professional setting. But what would that leave behind? What were the parts of his marriage with Myra that were genuinely worth saving? 

Myra’s greatest asset was that she took care of him. The one part that Eddie had thought he truly loved about Myra had been how attentive she was. 

But his mother had also been attentive. And he had just figured out that she might have lied to him for his whole life. 

Because his mother  _ wanted _ him to be sick. And Myra wanted him to be sick. 

Because if he was sick, that meant he needed them. Needed their fussing, badgering, and attention. 

Eddie didn’t feel loved. He felt trapped. 

And it  _ hurt _ . He wanted to stop hurting. 

“... Eddie?” Myra’s voice called from the phone, after he had gone silent for too long. “Are you still there?” 

Eddie held the phone firmly to his ear, and stopped walking. 

“Myra, I think you should move back to New York.” 

\- - - - - - -- - - 

Richie had been up in his hotel room, flipping through whatever free channels came up on the shitty tv. 

Cartoons. Reality show. Cartoons. News channel. News channel. No. Not that one. Not that one either. 

Richie usually kept his tv volume on pretty loudly. It was only because he was flipping through the channels instead of settling on one that he heard noises from outside of his window. 

Sort of sounded like someone was getting into a fight. Which Richie  _ absolutely _ wanted to see. 

He turned the TV off, and made his way over to the hotel window. 

“... Ohhhh boy,” he said to himself, as soon as the scene in front of him registered in his mind. 

Yup, that was Eddie Kasprak down there. In the parking lot, phone in one hand, shouting at what appeared to be the guy who was working at the front desk when they checked in. 

Richie couldn’t hear what the employee was saying, but he would hear Eddie’s voice muffled through the glass. 

‘I told you, I will keep paying for the apartment until- Can you not _ see _ that I am trying to have a private conversation here!’ 

Oh yeah, that was not good. 

Richie undid the deadbolt from the front door, and made his way out onto the balcony. 

“Sir, I am going to need you to calm down.” 

“I am calm!!! You calm down! Hold on- Myra! I don’t care! For once in my fucking life, I do not care about what happens after this!” 

“Sir. It’s late, people are trying to sleep. If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to call the police.” 

“Good! I wish you  _ would _ ! I wish you would call the police, maybe they can talk some sense into my wife!” 

And that was Richie’s cue to start running. 

He made it down the steps into the parking lot, making a beeline for the receptionist before he could pull out his phone. 

“Woah!! Woah, hey, hold up,” he said quickly, at least getting the man to pause mid-action. That was a good start. 

Richie stood up straight, looking back for a moment at Eddie, who went back to pacing and yelling at his phone. 

“He’s uh… that guy’s my friend,” Richie said, turning his attention back to the receptionist. “He’s having a rough time right now. I’ll make sure he keeps it down. Alright? No need to call anyone in.” 

Richie was getting nervous. The other man squinted his eyes at him, and Richie didn’t know what that meant. Was he considering Richie’s offer? 

“Hey… are you Richie Tozier?” 

_ Fuck _ . 

\- - - - - - - - 

One autograph, three selfies, and one horrendously awkward snapchat birthday shoutout later, Richie had secured Eddie full screaming rights in the parking lot for the rest of the evening. 

And scream he did. 

Richie sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, to serve as Eddie’s defender in case any of the motel patrons decided to come out and file a complaint. He multi-tasked between playing games on his phone, and checking in on Eddie to make sure he hadn’t exploded. 

Richie tried not to listen in, but he still caught bits and pieces of the conversation. Eddie didn’t feel respected, he didn’t want to talk about it when he got back, Myra can have anything she wants to keep, he doesn’t care. 

“We don’t even need to settle any of this right now! My lawyers will call you, and we will negotiate from there. I’m going now. I need you out of the apartment by the time I get back to Boston,” Eddie finished with, hanging up the phone before he had time to get an answer. He powered it off immediately after, and shoved it angrily into his pocket. 

And the ring on his hand snagged onto the pocket’s hem. 

So Eddie took the ring off, and threw it across the parking lot, full force. 

“This thing can go  _ fuck _ itself!” 

“Woah there, Frodo Baggins,” Richie piped in. 

Eddie spun around, jolted, having entirely forgotten about Richie’s presence. 

His shoulders sagged slightly, as he calmed down a bit. 

“... shit,” Eddie said, voice strained from his excessive shouting. “I’m sorry you had to see that, man…” 

“Woah, hey. No problem. You’re fine,” Richie said. He patted the empty space on the sidewalk next to him invitingly. Eddie took the invitation, crossing over and sat down next to Richie. Head hung down, shoulders slumped, sapped of all of his energy. 

Richie waited for Eddie to start talking about what happened, but he didn’t. He sat in silence, staring at the ground. 

“So uh… are you ok?” Richie finally asked. 

“No,” Eddie said flatly. 

“Damn. Ok.” 

Silence again. 

“... You wanna go do something about it? There might be a bar somewhere that’s open. Or we could just sit in silence and not talk. Whatever.” 

“...I want to go to a diner.” 

“Huh? Really? Weird that you’re like, hungry after that. But hey. I’m not here to judge. Let me get the keys. I’ll meet you back down here.” 

\- - - - - - - - 

Richie found a 24 hour diner after a quick search on his phone. 

Eddie was silent for the whole car ride over. Richie filled in the silence for him, talking about whatever random subjects came to mind that he could have a one sided conversation about. 

How creepy roads at night are. How many fingers bats have. Haunted toilets. How horse hooves are basically just fingernails. This one crazy thing Ben said that he made Richie promise not to tell anyone about. 

Probably shouldn’t have shared the last one, but Richie wasn’t even sure how much Eddie was paying attention. And he wasn’t complaining either or telling Richie to shut up, so he just went on talking. 

They got to the diner, and got out of the car. Eddie was lucid enough to be able to move around on his own, and was coordinated enough for Richie to settle down a bit. Eddie had looked like he was about to fall over back in the parking lot, this was a vast improvement. 

They got in, got a table, and Eddie scooped up the menu right away, starting to read through it. 

Richie took a much shorter look at the menu. He wasn’t really hungry, so he’d probably just get a milkshake and some french fries. Maybe he’d steal off of Eddie’s plate if anything on it looked good. 

The waitress came over to take their order, and Richie asked for exactly that. Shake and fries. 

She nodded, and turned to Eddie. 

“And what will you be having?” 

Eddie spoke to her without breaking eye contact with the menu. 

“... I need one order of clam chowder, the short stack of pancakes, a build-your-own omelet with swiss cheese, tomatoes and peppers, bacon, ham, and sausage, the imperial burger, the fried fish sandwich, the mozzarella sticks, an english muffin, the french toast, a banana split, and a glass of milk. Please.” 

The waitress and Richie stared at Eddie. 

“... You… want that all at once?” the waitress asked, mildly concerned. 

“Just send it over as it comes out of the kitchen,” Eddie said, finally putting the menu down. “Whatever is the most convenient for you. We’re not in a hurry.” 

“Right... “ the waitress replied, walking off to inform the night-cook about Eddie’s order. 

Once she was gone, Richie snapped out of his confused haze. He blinked, closing his open mouth. 

“Eddie, man. You can’t eat  _ any _ of that,” he said. 

“Maybe I can,” Eddie replied. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before.” 

Before Richie could respond to that, Eddie reached into the bag he had brought with him. He pulled out a long tube, and put it down on the table between them. 

“This is an Epipen. If I start having an allergic reaction and I can’t do it myself, I need you to jam this into my leg.” 

Richie held back a dry heave. 

“Holy shit, dude I  _ can’t _ do that. I- Eddie. Look. It pains me to say this. Physically pains me, because I am the patron saint of bad ideas. But this is  _ not _ a good idea. You could get like... actually hurt right now,” Richie said. He thought about that point more, and went from scared to stern. 

“Actually? It’s even worse than that. People die from allergic reactions. If you have a reaction, and I can’t get that pen to work? You could _ literally  _ die. Isn’t there some sort of test or something they do that can tell you if you’re allergic to something or not?” 

Richie was worried for a moment that Eddie was going to explode again, but all of the fight had been drained out of him. Instead of angry, he just looked sad. Like Richie had kicked him instead of given him very good advice. 

“... I really don’t think I’m allergic to any of this. I just… I have to know,” he said. His voice still sounded cracked, and it didn’t have any power behind it. 

Richie could have swept him away from the diner, and brought him back to the motel. Where it was safe. Where Eddie was guaranteed to not need a trip to the hospital, and they could both sleep this off. 

But Eddie looked so fragile. He had his heart set on whatever he was trying to prove. And Richie knew he would break that heart into a thousand pieces if he didn’t let Eddie have this. 

So Richie sighed, and frowned, and dragged his fingers through his hair. 

“... Fine. But the _ second _ you even think you have an itch in your throat, you stop right away, I’m stabbing you with the pen, and we’re going right to the nearest hospital. Ok?” said Richie. 

Eddie nodded, with a faint smile starting to creep its way onto his face. 

“Thank you,” he said to Richie. 

Richie groaned, and rubbed his face with both hands. “Do not thank me for this. This is a bad idea, and I’m a bad person for letting you do this. You’re lucky I have no backbone.” 

‘ _ You’re lucky I can’t say no to you _ ,’ Richie added internally. 

“Actually, you’re not lucky. You’re very unlucky, because I’m about to let you put yourself into an allergy-coma.” 

And thus the parade of diner plates started to arrive at their table. They both stayed silent the whole time. Eddie picked bits off of each plate and focused on how the food affected him, and Richie desperately looked for the first sign of a genuine allergic reaction. 

The banana split was the last item to arrive at their table. Richie watched as Eddie took a scoop of ice cream in his spoon, covered with chocolate and crushed nuts, and ate it. 

Eddie kept it in his mouth for a while, crunching the nuts between his teeth, until he finally swallowed it. He put his spoon back down on the table, and stared ahead of him. 

Richie was calmer now. After seeing how Eddie hadn’t reacted to the rest of his late dinner, he figured that Eddie was probably out of the danger zone. But even after that final bite, Richie still had to ask. 

“So… you feel anything?” 

“Nothing,” said Eddie, sounding distant now. 

“Damn. So I guess you’re not allergic to like, anything. Huh,” Richie said. 

At that, Eddie laughed. Richie almost felt a burst of pride at getting Eddie to feel better, but the laugh wasn’t a particularly happy one. It sounded hollow. 

“This whole time. My whole life I’ve been fine. I could have eaten any of this the whole time,” said Eddie. He was smiling, but again, not in the cute way. And his hands shook slightly. “I have never had a birthday cake  _ in my life _ . My mom never let me have a birthday cake!” 

And then he was crying. Tears streaming down his face, too shaken up to even try to hide them. 

Because Eddie’s mom had never given him a birthday cake. There was butter in the frosting. And by the time he was old enough to learn about vegan cakes, he didn’t want one anymore. 

Richie was panicking again. This situation was far, far out of his wheelhouse. He was not the sort of person you wanted to be around when you were crying, but there was no one else around who could shoulder the responsibility. 

So he made himself think. What would slightly-more-stable Eddie do? 

‘ _ Hey asshole, I don’t want to cry in front of a bunch of strangers _ .  _ Take me somewhere else, _ ’ mental Eddie told Richie. 

Right. Thanks, mind-Eddie. 

“Hey uh, it’s … ok. Why don’t we get out of here? Let’s just. I don’t know. Drive somewhere. Yeah?” he asked. He got through just enough to get a nod from Eddie. 

“Good. You wait here, I’ll get the bill,” said Richie. 

Richie met the waitress at one of the counters, and paid off the bill, with plenty extra for the tip. 

He went back to the table, picked Eddie’s bag up for him, took him by the arm, and led him back to the car. 

The epipen remained sitting at the side of the table. Unopened. 


	7. Main Course part 2: Cajun Catfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a heart to heart conversation, Eddie and Richie finally made it down to Georgia and go noodling. Will they manage to snag a catfish? Or will the catfish snag them??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE ARRIVED AT THE REASON I WROTE THIS ENTIRE FUCKING NOVEL OF A FANFIC AND THAT IS RICHIE AND EDDIE GOING NOODLING!!!!!!! 
> 
> YEE HAW!!!! 
> 
> For anyone who hasn't seen the BA test kitchen, I do highly recommend you watch the noodling episode of it. You don't HAVE to in order to get the story, but it's a good watch! And there's a LOT of Reddie-like moments in it that I didn't put into the fic because I didn't just want to re-write the episode when I could put in FRESH CONTENT. But trust me. Watch it. Matty Matherson is just Canadian Eddie. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JkcZRBUNtw&t=1586s 
> 
> Up next we get THE FINAL CHAPTER! THE LOVE CONFESSIONS. THE KISSING. WHAT Y'ALL BEEN WAITING FOR. Thanks for sticking with me this long!!!! I love all of your feedback, and I hope you enjoy this segment!!!

Richie took off down the road, with no GPS and no particular game plan in mind. His only idea was driving until he found a spot that looked like a good place to have a mental breakdown, and stopping there. 

Eddie continued crying in the car. He did so quietly, trying his hardest to contain the tears. But they wouldn’t stop. Whatever had held back his tears for so long had crumbled. 

Richie switched back and forth between looking for somewhere to stop, and trying to console Eddie. 

“Hey… It’s ok. ...Buddy, nothing to sweat. You’re ok-” 

“I am not okay right now!” Eddie cut in hoarsely. “I just found out I’ve been living a lie and I’m getting divorced, I am not fucking okay!” 

“Shit. No, you’re right. You’re not okay. Fuck,” Richie sputtered out helplessly. “Do you need water? I think there’s a water bottle in here. Uh… somewhere. It’s somewhere. Do you want me to turn the air on?” 

Eddie wiped his face with his sleeve again, then used it to muffle a gentle sob. 

“I need tissues,” he said. 

“Right! Gotcha, glove box right in front of you. I took a shit ton of napkins from McDonald's,” Richie replied. 

Eddie reached in, gathering up as much as he could into his hands, and pressed his face into them. 

Thankfully it didn’t take Richie much longer to hit the jackpot. They had been on a dirt road for a short time, long enough to give them a fair bit of distance between them and anyone else in town. The road had been lined with trees, but just ahead of them was a small clearing. 

The clearing sat right in front of a small river. The moon was full, so there was plenty of light around them without the need for street lamps or flashlights. There was plenty of grass to sit on, and no sign of wildlife lurking around. 

Richie pulled over to the side of the road, and parked the car. 

Richie had been about to ask Eddie whether he wanted to stay in the car or not, but Eddie was already out the door as soon as the car stopped. 

He couldn’t stay in a small space. Everything around him felt like it was closing in on him, he needed to be outside. 

Leaving a small trail of errant McDonald's napkins in his wake, Eddie stumbled out over to the grass. Once there he fell onto his knees, and curled in on himself. 

He thought that being out in the fresh air might help. He thought that letting out some of those tears might help. He thought that being with someone, being with Richie, might help. 

But none of it helped. He wasn’t feeling better. With every moment that passed, everything kept hurting more and more. He felt like he was spiraling downwards. Drowning. And the more he fought, the worse the sensations became. 

He hadn’t realized how loud his crying had become. He had been so good about crying quietly as a child, but now he felt like his emotions were being ripped from his body. He shook, and sobbed, and dug his fingers down into the soil below him. 

And then someone was calling out to him. 

He couldn’t register it at first. Everything around him felt like it was bristling static, like nothing existed besides the pain coursing through his body. 

But it happened again, and Eddie could pick it out from the white noise. 

“...ddie. Eds, hey. Look at me.” 

Richie. 

Eddie blinked his eyes open, and turned to look next to him. Richie was kneeling beside him, crouched down as much as possible to meet Eddie’s eye level. 

“Got ya. Now We’re going to try something out, all right? Don’t worry, I saw this on a tv show,” Richie said, giving Eddie a thumbs up. “Breathe with me. Ok? In through the nose, hold for three, out through the mouth.” 

And Richie started doing just that, holding up his fingers to count down from three every time he held his breath. 

Eddie tried to follow along. He was still crying, and his chest moved erratically at first, sucking in small breaths rapid fire. Unable to hold his breath without gasping for more. Sobbing it all out at once. 

But every time they went through it, it got a little easier. Until Eddie was breathing in time with Richie, and his lungs stopped feeling like they were on fire. 

“That should be good,” Richie said finally, letting out a small sigh of relief as he sat down next to Eddie. “Jesus, man. I was starting to get really worried, you were hyperventilating like crazy. Feel better?” 

“No,” Eddie said earnestly. He was still crying. He was still sad. And he felt like he was never going to be happy ever again. 

“Well, if you need anyth-” 

“Would you stop asking that?” Eddie snapped. 

Deep down, Eddie felt bad. He knew that Richie was trying to help him, but the constant stream of doting and caring was starting to make him feel strangled again. 

Myra and his mother had both doted on him. They constantly asked if he was drinking enough water, if he needed another sweater or not, whether or not he had gotten enough sleep or if he needed a nap. 

“I don’t _need_ anything.” 

Any time the question of Sonia being a good mother or not came into question, the answer was that she was obviously the best. Because of how much attention she gave Eddie. She was a saint, a martyr, and if Eddie didn’t do enough to please her he was _ungrateful_. And Myra had been the same. 

And here was someone else in his life, starting the whole process over again. Giving him gifts. Driving him anywhere he wanted to go. Calling him cute nicknames that made him feel special. Looking after his health. 

“What are you even doing here? Why are you doing all of this?” 

Richie had an ulterior motive. He had to. 

His mother had wanted a perfect child. A porcelain doll. 

Myra had wanted companionship. A puppet. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Richie was frowning. His fingers curled up into his hands. 

Eddie half expected him to stand up and leave. He wouldn’t have been surprised. This conversation was going nowhere good, cutting it off now would have been the most reasonable choice. 

But he didn’t. Richie stayed where he was, eyes locked with Eddie. 

“Anything.” 

“... w… what?” Eddie asked. 

“Anything. I mean full-on beggar style, whether all you’ve got to spare is a penny or 20 bucks. If you want to be best friends and have me carry the ring down the aisle for you at your next wedding, I’ll take it. If you want me to fuck off and send you a letter every 15 years with a check for a hundred grand in it, I’ll take it.” 

Richie spoke softly, voice blending into the sound of rushing water next to them. 

“It doesn’t matter what you give me, Eddie. All of it is good. And I’ll never ask for you anything more than that.” 

This was opening up a whole new kind of pain inside Eddie. 

He didn’t feel like he deserved this. It was too good to be true. A twisted part of him was still convinced that Richie was lying, that he had seen that speech in a movie and was using it to get Eddie’s hopes up. To reel him in, and earn his trust and loyalty, before using it against him. 

But Eddie was tired. Too exhausted to argue with himself anymore. If Richie was truly some expert con artist slash sociopath, he told himself he could figure that out and worry about it later. 

For now, he crashed forward onto Richie’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Richie, planted his face in the crook of his neck and started sobbing again. 

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie right back, pulling him in as close as possible. His broad hands smoothed down Eddie’s back, cupped against the back of his neck, and anchored him. 

Eddie cried against Richie, and for once in his life, he almost felt like he was safe. 

\- - - - - - - - 

The two of them had lost track of time down by the river. 

Eventually, Eddie had calmed down. After he had finally stopped crying, the two of them decided to stay out. 

And they talked. About Eddie’s mother, about his relationship with Myra, about everything that Eddie had never told anyone else out loud before. 

Eventually they ended up both laying in the grass, side by side. 

“... I don’t really know if my mom loved me or not,” Eddie said. His voice was spent, torn apart by yelling and sobbing and breaking down, but he still insisted on using it. “At one point I loved her. And I tried to get her to love me back. I think she might have. In her own way. But that’s what makes it so fucked up, right? Love is supposed to be a good thing, it isn’t supposed to hurt people.” 

“I don’t think that really matters,” Richie replied. Now that Eddie had calmed down they were having more back-and-forth in their conversation. “Whether or not she loved you, what she did was fucked up. Remembering to feed your kids doesn’t give you permission to traumatize them.” 

“It sucks. Even after all of this, I keep wanting to stick up for her. My automatic reaction is to say ‘I had a good mom. She didn’t traumatize me, I traumatized myself’. But then I start remembering shit she used to do and I’m like ‘Oh wait, getting locked in your bedroom for a week because some kid at school got chicken pox isn’t a normal childhood experience’,” said Eddie. 

“Well, if you need someone to shit-talk the memory of your mother for you, look no further. I will never speak kindly of her ever again, Sonia Kasprak just rose up to the number one spot on my shit list. The next time I see her, I’m breaking up with her. I could never love a woman who hurt you like that,” Richie replied. 

Eddie weakly elbowed Richie, even as he chuckled. 

“God, you are such an ass. Do you ever stop?” 

“Not really. No idea why you put up with me.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, lacing his fingers back over his stomach. 

“I put up with you because you’re good company. And you make an excellent tissue. Very absorbent.” 

It was Richie’s turn to laugh now, much louder than Eddie’s had been. 

“Hey, man. Anytime you need one, hit me up,” Richie said. 

A comfortable silence passed over them as they laid there, staring up at the tops of trees and the stars above them. 

After a short while, Richie spoke up again. 

“Hey so… I know you’re going through a lot right now. If you don’t feel up for shooting this video, I’m sure Bill would understand. I could just do it on my own and you could watch from the sidelines,” Richie offered. 

Eddie thought about it for a moment, but shook his head. 

“No. I want to do this,” said Eddie. “I mean, for one, I can’t go back home yet. If Myra does end up leaving for New York she’ll need time to pack. And if she doesn’t leave, I’ll need time to figure out what I’m going to do when I’m back in Boston.” 

“You could stay with me,” Richie said, then quickly added “Or Bev. Or Bill. Literally anyone would be happy to take you in. We’d probably all end up fighting over who gets to have you over their place. We’ll have to settle it by setting up a fight club in the kitchen.” 

Eddie gave a snort of amusement. 

“Thanks. But besides that, I actually want to shoot this video. Now more than ever. The test kitchen and this channel is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I feel like if I back out of this… it’ll be like Myra is taking that away from me. She didn’t want me to shoot this. And my mother never would have let me do something like this,” Eddie added. 

He sat up now, so he could look at the river ahead of them. 

“Giving up now is exactly what I would have done before I met any of you. I don’t want to go back to that. I never want to live like that ever again.” 

Richie sat up as well, looking aside at Eddie. 

“Hey, never too late to get into a rebellious phase. Stick it to the man. Or the woman, in this case,” said Richie. 

Eddie paused, before letting out sudden loud laughter. 

“Damn, I really killed it with that one, huh?” Richie asked with a grin. 

Eddie shook his head, pulling something out of his jacket pocket. 

“No. I just... I found this,” he said, holding up his inhaler. “Here you were, trying to walk me through controlling my breathing when I had this on me the whole time.” 

“Does that work when you’re having a panic attack? I thought that was an asthma thing,” Richie asked. 

Eddie thought about it for a moment, looking at his inhaler. 

“... I mean, I always use it when I get short of breath. Huh. I might not actually have asthma either.” 

“Am I going to need to run and grab more napkins?” Richie asked. Half joking, mostly concerned. 

“No, I’m fine. For now. I’ll probably freak out about that later,” Eddie said, too exhausted to get properly upset about it. 

He stared at the inhaler, bone white in the palm of his hand. It had once been a comfortable weight there. Any time he became nervous in public his first reaction was to cup a hand over wherever he was keeping it, and the shape of it through the fabric of his clothing would convince him that everything was going to be ok. 

Now he looked at it and felt angry. Betrayed. It was just another stupid trinket that made him believe he was weaker than he actually was. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Eddie reached up, pulled his hand back, and sent it flying into the river in front of them. 

Eddie and Richie watched as it went sailing through the air, before dropping into the middle of the water with a soft plop. 

Richie let out a small whistle. 

“Aaaand there it goes. Oh grand and powerful river gods, please accept our offering,” said Richie. “... you sure about doing that, bud? Jury’s still out on whether or not you actually have asthma.” 

“I have a few backups in my luggage,” Eddie admitted. 

“Really? Damn. It’s a lot less dramatic when you put it like that. And here I thought you were having a grand cathartic moment.” 

“I’ll get rid of the rest of them later.” 

“Wanna go back to the hotel right now and burn them all?” 

“You can’t burn an inhaler, idiot. They’re made of plastic and metal-” 

\- - - - - - - - 

**Richie And Eddie go Noodling**

Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen

Description: Richie Tozier and Eddie Kasprak go out into the wild to catch catfish with their bare hands. 

[Pre introduction shot. 

Eddie and Richie are standing a good 10 feet away from the camera, clearly not knowing they are being filmed. Eddie is dressed in a bucket hat, a utility vest, tall rubber boots, and a fanny pack. He has thick construction gloves tucked into his belt, and clearly has a large amount of supplies stuffed into every pocket of his vest. Richie is dressed in jean shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off that says ‘Master Baiter’ with a cartoon fish winking on it. 

Eddie has a bottle of sunscreen and Richie’s glasses in one of his hands, and is slathering sunscreen on Richie’s face with the other hand.] 

EDDIE

It doesn’t _matter_ if it's cloudy out, the clouds don’t completely block out ultraviolet rays. Did you know you can get skin cancer from even one sunburn? One. Look at your face, it's already red and we haven’t even been outside for an hour yet. 

RICHIE

My face is _red_ because this f*cking embarrassing. What are you, my mom? 

EDDIE

If I was your mother I would have raised you better. Now, because you’re going to be in the water this is going to wear off fast. We’ll need to reapply every two hours- 

[INTRODUCTION MUSIC, played with a few clips of what's to come, and the wildlife around them. 

After the official introduction, Eddie and Richie are standing in front of the camera, by the bank of the river. Richie gives the camera a lazy wave. Eddie looks like he’s about to explode from how uncomfortable he is. He keeps looking around him, checking his surroundings so nothing sneaks up on him.] 

RICHIE

Hello, audience. You may notice we are not standing in a kitchen right now. That is because our boss is a sadist, and decided we needed to ‘mix up our content’. So welcome to our first off-site special, where we will have the distinct honor of sticking our hands in holes to try to get a monster fish to bite us. 

EDDIE

_Richie_ will be sticking his hands in holes. I will be doing nothing of the sort. 

RICHIE

You still sure about that? There’s plenty of room in the river for you to join us. You’re so tiny I bet you could just crawl into the holes and ambush the catfish. Tactical advantage. 

EDDIE

_Yes_ . I’m sure. There is nothing that could convince me to do this. I mean, have you seen the water?? It’s _brown_. There’s absolutely no visibility in it. There could be anything in the water, and you won’t be able to see until it is literally touching you. 

RICHIE

I hope nothing knocks my glasses off. It’d be a bitch to find them. 

EDDIE

Why didn’t you wear contacts for this? You didn’t think about that before?? 

RICHIE

I can’t. Touching my eyeballs freaks me out too much. 

EDDIE

You don’t actually touch your eyes when you put contacts in, you know. Youuuuu OH God-

[A second camera picks up a shot off to the side. A tanned older man walks out of some tall grass. He has a baseball cap on, jean shorts, and a loose t-shirt. He grins from ear to ear, holding up a snake in one of his hands. He speaks in a thick southern accent] 

PAT

Look what I found, boys! 

EDDIE

PAT! Put that down!!! 

RICHIE

[laughing, pointing aside at the older man] That’s Pat! He’s a professional noodler, and is going to be our tour guide today, along with his wife and son. He likes messing with Eddie. So he’s basically my best friend now. 

PAT

Awww, what’s wrong? You don’t like him? He likes you. Look, he’s doing a lil dance for ya. 

[Pat wiggles the snake in the air, making it dance. Eddie moves around, using Richie as a human shield.] 

EDDIE

I’m serious Pat! Put it back! 

PAT

This aint even one of the poisonous ones. You got a lot more to worry about than this big guy ‘round these parts. 

EDDIE

Oh my god. 

[Pat laughs again, and gives the snake a gentle toss in Richie and Eddie’s direction. Both of them jump and yell in shock, running out of frame. 

FAST FORWARD 

Pat has given the audience a proper introduction into what Noodling is, and has prepped everyone for going into the water. Half the camera crew stays on the bank with Eddie, while the other half goes into the water, using various pool floats to keep the cameras above water. 

They travel down river a bit, until Eddie stops them in a panic.] 

EDDIE

Richie! F*ck, Richie, don’t move! 

[Richie stops, freezing up with fear.] 

EDDIE

Okay… sh*t… Richie, there’s something right behind you. Pat? Pat! There’s something right behind Richie, what do we do?!

[Pat starts laughing wildly, along with his wife. They do not seem concerned. Richie turns his head very slowly, to look over his shoulder at what Eddie has seen.] 

RICHIE

… f*ck. Okay. It’s okay, Eds. 

EDDIE

No it’s not!!! Just, back away slowly!

RICHIE

[slowly turning towards the object floating in the water] I’m going to try to take it out before it can get me. 

EDDIE

What?! Richie, no! 

[Richie slowly reaches out, then suddenly dips lower into the water with a yelp] 

RICHIE

Sh*t! It’s got me! 

EDDIE

RICHIE! 

RICHIE

[struggling in the water] It’s got my arm! Oh god! The leaf! 

[Richie pulls his arm out of the water, holding up what Eddie was concerned about. A large leaf.] 

RICHIE

Pat! Pat what are you standing around laughing for?! The leaf’s pulling me under! 

[Eddie realizes his mistake, and flushes red.] 

EDDIE

F*ck you! It.. that looked like an alligator head from this angle! 

RICHIE

Everything’s going black… I think the leaf venom is setting in… 

EDDIE

See if I help you out when something actually does sneak up on you *sshole! 

[Richie starts floating face down in the water, And Eddie storms off further down the riverbank.]

[FAST FORWARD 

The group has continued traveling down the river, and get to a part where both sides of the river are covered in tall grass. They all stop when they get there.] 

PAT

All right now. Y’all are going to want to get on down into the water for this next bit. 

EDDIE

… what? No. Why? 

PAT

[motioning to the grass] You can’t move on land over there. Too many snakes. 

EDDIE

What?! No. No, no. No. I’m not doing that. You never said there was going to be parts on land we couldn’t walk through. No! I’ll just… I’ll go around the grass. I’ll walk inland and go around. 

PAT

It’ll take ya a good half hour to get around that patch. No time for that. 

RICHIE

Eddie, just get in the water. 

EDDIE

F*ck no! 

RICHIE

It’s fine, man! I haven’t been eaten alive yet, right? You don’t have to stick your hands into anything, it’s just walking until we get to the next dry patch of land. 

PAT

Less snakes in here then there are up there. 

RICHIE

See? Less snakes. 

PAT

[very softly, leaning in to whisper to Richie] I was lying about the snakes. 

RICHIE

[also whispering] I appreciate your service to the cause. 

EDDIE

[Watching the river, debating with himself] … I’m just standing in it. Right? No touching fish. 

RICHIE

If any fish try to get you I’ll slap them away. Crouching tiger style. 

EDDIE

…. I can do this. 

RICHIE

You can do this! 

[Eddie makes his way to the edge of the bank. He slowly removed various items from his fanny pack and vest, anything that isn’t waterproof that needs to be kept with the cameras on the pool floats. Once he is done he takes in a deep breath, and starts slowly moving into the water. Mike has edited the soundtrack of a horror movie into the scene, building up dramatic tension as Eddie slowly wades into the water, until he is up to his hips. He holds his arms up at his sides, trying not to touch anything.] 

EDDIE

Ohhh god oh god oh god oh god-

PAT

Atta boy!

[FAST FORWARD 

Eddie has stayed in the water with everyone else, even after the grass clears and there is space on the river banks again. He seems to have gotten used to the water, even if he stays on high alert of his surroundings. 

Pat’s wife has found a hole in the river, where they are pretty sure a catfish is hiding out. Richie gets his gloves on and goes with Pat to the hole, who has started to walk him through catching the catfish.] 

PAT

Now, you got some long limbs on ya, which is going to work to our advantage here. You’re gonna want to stick your leg down into that hole, and feel it out. You hear? When you get in far enough that sucker is going to have nowhere else to go, so he’s going to clamp down on ya to try to defend his territory. When that happens you want to pull ‘im out real fast, and get yer hands into his mouth. Then I’ll go in and hook it for ya. 

RICHIE

Hey Pat?

PAT

Yeah, man. 

RICHIE

That sounds terrible. I hate this. 

PAT

[laughs loudly] Well how’d you know you hate it? Ain’t even gotten one on ya yet. 

RICHIE

Well I know I don’t like being caught in a dumpster fire. Call it an educated guess. 

PAT

Don’t be a baby, come on now. Get up in there, boy. 

[Richie frowns and grumbles, but makes his way over to the side of the river bank. He gets in front of it, tensing up significantly when Pat steps in right behind him, crowding into his space. 

RICHIE

Woaaaah there-

PAT

Calm down, now. We’re going to get real friendly here for a hot minute, can’t help ya out if I’m across the river can I? Used to do this all the time with my boys. … Only you’re a lot taller than they were. Jesus, man, what did you eat as a kid? 

RICHIE

Other children. I consumed their strength. Don’t go touching anywhere weird, okay? I’m a virgin and I’m trying to save myself so my wedding d-OH JESUS. PAT! 

[Pat is laughing again after Richie jumps. He apparently grabbed his leg from under the water to startle him.] 

PAT

Now see, that’s nothing compared to the catfish. Giving ya a little de-mon-stration. Now stop yer yapping, get up in there. 

[Richie grumbles, but does as Pat says. He starts to slide down into the water, nervously putting his leg further and further into the hole.] 

RICHIE

… Are you sure there’s a catfish in here? I’m not feeling anything. 

PAT

Oh don’t worry. There’s one in there. You’ll feel it. 

[Richie continues, sliding further and further] 

RICHIE

… huh. Hey, I think I- HEY!!!!!! F*CK!!! NO!!!!! 

[Pat whoops loudly, holding on tightly to Richie to keep him above water] 

PAT

There he is!!!

RICHIE

WHAT THE F*CK!!! GOD IT’S- IT’S REALLY ON THERE! 

PAT

Well don’t just stand there! Pull it out! 

[Richie struggles, trying to use the branches above them to pull himself out of the hole.] 

PAT

Hands under the water, boy! You gotta get it’s mouth before you- 

RICHIE

I am trying not to drown right now! 

PAT

That’s what I’m here for! Hands under, grab it- …. Sh*t. 

RICHIE

It… it let go. Did it go back in the hole? 

PAT

Nope. You pulled it out too far, it took off. 

RICHIE

D*mnit. 

PAT

I told you not to go holding those branches-

RICHIE

I couldn’t balance!! 

PAT

Whelp, no helping it now. We’ll have to go off to the next hole. 

RICHIE

[deeply disappointed] It’s fine. It’s probably the height thing, you couldn’t get around me. What if I tried it on my own next time? And You, Bobby, and Debbie could all stand a couple feet off and make a human net if it gets away from me? 

PAT

I don’t know about that. But hey. We’ll give it a try. 

[FAST FORWARD 

Pat has found the next beaver hole, and Richie goes in on his own to try to get the catfish out. He does manage to get the catfish to bite down, yelling about it the whole time, but loses his balance and falls into the water. When he stands back up he looks at the three professional noodlers.] 

RICHIE

It let go! Did you get it?!

[Pat shakes his head sadly, crossing his arms over his chest.] 

PAT

Told you that wasn’t gon’ work. Gives the catfish too much space to dart around. They’re slippery sons of b*tches. 

RICHIE

[frowns deeply] … whatever. We’ll get it on the next one. Or we won’t, and I’ll just keep getting the sh*t bitten out of me for the rest of the day. 

PAT

That’s the spirit! 

[Pat claps Richie roughly on the back, almost sending him tumbling forward into the water.] 

\- - - - - - - 

_[The following section of camera footage was cut from the final production of Richie and Eddie go Noodling. It was never aired on the Loser Test Kitchen channel.]_

[Everyone is moving off down the river, wading through the water, looking for the next hole to search for catfish. Eddie is off ahead, talking with some of the film crew. Pat’s wife and son have left the group, going off on their own to try to hunt for Catfish down a deeper branch of the river. 

Richie tags behind with Pat, filmed by one camera] 

RICHIE

So Pat, while we have a moment here, let’s get some background on you, huh? How long have you been doing this for? 

PAT

Been noodlin my whole life. My pa taught me when I was a boy, been keeping it going ever since. 

RICHIE

So it’s a family affair? You’ve got your wife here, got your kid, got the whole Delford clan scooping fish out of rivers. 

PAT

Most of em anyhow. One of my boys lives in Atlanta. Tried teaching him when he was a kid, never really caught onto it. 

RICHIE

[laughs] Can’t say I blame him. No offense Pat, but this _sucks_. 

PAT

[laughs as well] Never promised it’d be a walk in the park. More like a trudge through a shit-hole. It aint for everyone. 

RICHIE

Yeah, I’ll say. 

PAT

Liam’s a lot like your friend over there. The screaming one. [that gets a loud laugh out of Richie] Never liked getting his hands in a mess. But he’s a good kid. Livin a good life. 

[FAST FORWARD 

Pat and Richie are still talking. Pat has gone over most of his extended family who are also noodlers, and has started talking about keeping in touch with everyone]

PAT

Yup, we’re going to have a family get-together soon. Liam and his husband are coming down next month. Gonna have a big cook out. 

[Richie tenses up, and doesn’t say anything. He looks shocked. Pat stops walking through the water, turning on Richie with a stern look on his face.] 

PAT

You got a problem with that, son? 

RICHIE

W-... what? 

PAT

If you don’t like it, we don’t have to keep on going. River bank’s right over there. 

RICHIE

No! Shit, I mean… no problems at all. Seriously. I live in California, I know more gay people than straight people at this point. I’m just… surprised? Not that I pegged you for a raging homophobe but… well I peg most people down here as raging homophobes. Seems like that’s the norm. 

PAT

Whelp, I don’t give a fresh shit about the norm. That’s my boy. I raised him, and I’m mighty proud of him. 

RICHIE

… huh. 

PAT

He might not be a noodler, but he provides for his family. Might not have turned out the way I wanted him to, but he turned out just fine. And I will not tolerate anyone shit talkin’ about him. 

RICHIE

.... that’s really cool of you, man.

PAT

Don’t care if it’s cool or not. It’s the right thing to do.

[Richie suddenly remembers that they have a camera on them, and curses.] 

RICHIE

Shit, sorry. Forgot the camera was on. We can cut all of this out of the final video if you want.

PAT

[makes a aloof noise] You can post up anything you like. Don’t matter to me. Aint nothing I wouldn’t tell the next stranger who comes round these parts. If the internets don’t like it, they can come find me and I’ll give them what for. 

\- - - - - - - - - 

[Back into the video posted online. 

The group has found their next catfishing hole. It’s a shallow one, buried into the reeds and trees on the side of the riverbank. Pat and Richie are talking about a game plan for getting the fish out of the hole, but can’t seem to come to an agreement. 

But then, Richie gets a sudden idea. He talks to Pat for a moment in a hushed tone, and gets a nod out of him. Richie grins, and waves Eddie over to the side of the Riverbank.] 

RICHIE

Eds! Get on over here! 

[Eddie hesitantly makes his way over, standing next to Richie and Pat.] 

RICHIE

Alright. So. We’re brainstorming right now. You like brainstorming, right? 

EDDIE

I do, but I already don’t like where this is going. If this is another ‘stringing up Eddie and using him as bait’ joke-

RICHIE

It’s not. Trust me. Way better. So right now, we haven’t been able to catch any fish yet. We keep losing them as soon as I try to transfer it from my feet to my hands. Right? And Pat’s tried standing behind me as a second barrier, but I’m too big and he can’t reach around. 

EDDIE

So why doesn’t Pat stand in front? 

RICHIE

Because then he’d be doing all the work and it wouldn’t count as us catching the catfish. 

EDDIE

…. No. 

RICHIE

Eddie, come on-

EDDIE

No! I know where you’re going with this, and no! Not doing it! You already got me in the water, I am NOT touching any fish! 

RICHIE

No- … Look. Just hear me out. 

EDDIE

I will hear you out, and then I am going to say no to you. So yeah. Go ahead, waste your breath. You do that. 

[Richie sighs, looking aside to Pat as if saying ‘do you see what I have to put up with?’. Pat shrugs, and Richie turns back to Eddie. ]

RICHIE

So if you stood in front of me, I could still get my feet into the hole and reach the catfish. He bites down onto my foot, I pull him out to the entrance of the hole, you grab his jaw and hold him there, while I get my feet out and get the hook through him. See? That doesn’t sound bad, right? You don’t even have to get bitten. 

EDDIE

My _hands_ are going to be in its _mouth_! 

RICHIE

Yeah but you have gloves on! You’re not going to be touching it! 

EDDIE

If I slip, it could swallow my whole arm! 

RICHIE

I won’t let it. I’ll keep my feet in there until you have a secure grip, and I’ll hook it right away. You can hold onto one of those for three seconds, right? Comon, Eds. Where’s your sense of adventure? 

EDDIE

I don’t have a sense of adventure. I have a very powerful survival instinct. 

RICHIE

Do it for the fans! Don’t you want the fans to be happy? 

EDDIE

The “fans” have given me nothing but three blogs dedicated to posting photoshopped pictures of me as Bert from Sesame Street and screenshots of my ass. They deserve nothing. 

RICHIE

Damn, harsh. … Do it for me, then? 

EDDIE

… and why would I do that? 

RICHIE

Because I really, really, _really_ want to catch a catfish. And if we don’t, I will be humiliated, and I will pout for the rest of the trip back up to Boston. 

EDDIE

… 

RICHIE

You’re thinking about it. 

EDDIE

Shut up. 

RICHIE

You’re considering… 

EDDIE

… I don’t have to get bitten. 

RICHIE

Not even a little. 

EDDIE

And you’ll tell me if the fish does anything weird and I need to get away. 

RICHIE

I’ll dive in front of it and be your human shield if it tries starting any shit. 

[Eddie stays silent, but then lets out a long sigh. He rubs his temples] 

EDDIE

I cannot believe you’re making me do this. 

RICHIE

Really?! Holy sh*t! Yes!! 

[Hard cut to Richie and Eddie standing together, in front of the beaver hole. 

Richie is standing directly behind Eddie, Eddie’s back pressed into him. Richie holds onto the branches up above them to keep both of them steady, and Eddie hooks his hands around Richie’s biceps. Eddie looks scared out of his mind, but he remains.] 

RICHIE

All right. Pat says there’s definitely one in there… he might be a bit further back though. I’m going to put my feet in the hole now, ok? You good? 

EDDIE

Y… yeah! I’m good! 

RICHIE

Cool. 

[Richie moves slowly, sinking a bit further in the water as he starts to slide his feet into the hole between Eddie’s legs. Eddie takes calming breaths, eyes wildly scanning the branches for any sign of spiders or snakes.] 

EDDIE

… Well?! Do you feel anything?!

RICHIE

Not yet. He’s _really_ deep in there. … Deeper than I got into your mo-

EDDIE

Now is _NOT_ the time for that Richie I will _drown_ you. 

RICHIE

Jeez, fine. I mean it’s never the tiiiiIIIII F*CK. OH! 

[Richie jumps a bit, which makes Eddie jump and let out a yelp.] 

RICHIE

SH*T! I GOT HIM!!! F*CK HE IS REALLY ON THERE! 

EDDIE

OH GOD.

RICHIE

I’m pulling him out!!! Get ready! 

EDDIE

I’M NOT! I CAN’T! 

RICHIE

Yes you can! Almost ther- STOP WITH THE THRASHING, F*CK THIS GUY! 

[They both struggle for a moment, something splashing up from under the water] 

RICHIE

He’s almost out!!! Eddie, the jaws! 

[Eddie yells incomprehensibly, but reaches down into the water with both hands. He shouts again when he gets his hands onto both jaws of the catfish, prying them and keeping them open] 

EDDIE

I GOT IT! 

RICHIE

I’m pulling my feet out now! Hold him! 

EDDIE

IM TRYING!! 

[Richie slides his feet out of the catfishes mouth, standing back up again. Pat hands him a rope with a hook on it. He reaches both of his arms around Eddie’s sides to grab the catfish’s jaw from behind him, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder in the process. He manages to get the hook into the fish’s lip, and ties it off.] 

RICHIE

Got it! Holy sh*t! Eds, let go! 

EDDIE

WHAT?!

RICHIE

You can let go! I think we got it! 

[Eddie yanks his hands away, screaming as the fish thrashes again, trying to swim away. The rope attached to the hook is wrapped firmly around Richie’s hand though, so it is unable to escape. The two of them move away from the hole, Richie falling back into the water, and Eddie falling on top of him. They stay still for a moment, both staring at the catfish on a rope as it tries to struggle and get free.] 

RICHIE

…. Holy sh*t. 

[Eddie starts laughing triumphantly, throwing his arms up into the air.] 

EDDIE

HOLY SH*T, DUDE! 

RICHIE

Would you look at _that_! 

[Richie holds the catfish out of the water slightly to show off their prize, letting out a loud ‘Woo’ which Eddie copies.] 

RICHIE

Step aside, Paul Bunyan! The real woodsmen are on the scene now! 

EDDIE

I can’t believe we did that!!! What?! 

RICHIE

We’re eating good tonight!!! 

[Richie and Eddie high five each other, wildly celebrating their victory. They switch between congratulating one another, splashing at each other, inspecting the catfish, and yelling in general about how they can’t believe they did it.] 

[FAST FORWARD 

Everyone is out of the water now. Pat’s wife and son have returned back to the group, with two more catfish to add to the group spoils, so everyone will have enough catfish to eat at the end of the night. 

Eddie is standing next to Richie, who is holding the catfish up by the rope hooked into it. They’re both a bit on the pink side from forgetting to re-apply sunblock when Eddie said it was recommended, but no serious burns. And they are both smiling triumphantly.] 

EDDIE

And there you have it. _That’s_ how you noodle. For anyone who was making bets against me doing this, you now owe me money. Personally. You can send your checks or cash directly to the test kitchen. 

RICHIE

Hey. Since I _also_ caught the catfish, does that mean I get half your money? 

EDDIE

What? No. They were making bets on me not going noodling, not on you. 

RICHIE

But I was the one who got bitten! 

EDDIE

That’s your fault for volunteering. 

RICHIE

You are so cruel to me. 

EDDIE

Anyway. 

[Eddie stops talking to Richie, turning back to the camera] 

EDDIE

This is a two part series! Subscribe, and come back next week to watch us cook this up. Richie is going to be grilling the catfish in a classic Cajun style, and I am going to be deep-frying the rest. 

RICHE

Just to make things a bit more interesting. I know I’m the king of deep-frying, but I’m sure I can walk Eddie through it. 

EDDIE

But that’s all the time we have today for this episode of the Loser Test Kitchen. Thank you for your support, an-AUGH HGRAD!!!

[Eddie jumps, flailing. Loud wheezing laughter is heard from the side of the camera. The camera turns, showing Pat standing off to the side with a long stick in his hands. He apparently poked Eddie’s leg with it, and is very amused by his shenanigans.] 

EDDIE

Pat! What the fu-

[The camera cuts, and the end credits play]. 

[Several bonus scenes play after the final credits] 

[The whole team is back in the water. This takes place as they were looking for holes to fish out of, shortly after Eddie agreed to go into the water. He is standing very close to Richie, grabbing onto the back of his shirt any time he thinks he sees something in the water. Richie seems fine with this, unphased as they keep walking.] 

RICHIE

Hey, Pat. Quick question, where do you go off to if you need to take a piss? 

PAT

You just do that right in the water. No need to go off anywhere, it all ends up in the same place anyhow. 

[Eddie’s jaw drops, looking down horrified into the water. He backs away from Richie, moving upstream, walking a few feet behind Richie and Pat now] 

[HARD CUT]

[Scene takes place after they have finished noodling. Pat is back on land with the rest of the camera crew. Most of the crew is looking over the equipment, making sure no damage happened and reviewing some of the footage they got. Pat is lying on his back in the grass, relaxing in the afternoon sun. 

Eddie and Richie are still in the water. The last camera remaining focused on them, filming from the shore. What started as a splash fight has turned into the two of them wrestling in the water, trying to push each other under, laughing wildly. Eddie has lost his hat, and Richie has lost his glasses, but neither of them seem to care. They take turns dunking each other under the surface of the water, Richie full on tossing Eddie away a few times. But Eddie always swims back, getting right back into the fight. 

They both get tired for a moment, panting, arms still loosely wrapped around one another. Their foreheads touch, and the camera pans away to give them some privacy] 

[HARD CUT]

[Eddie and Richie are at the NASCAR Hall of fame, a few weeks back. Richie is filming Eddie on the handheld camera, while Eddie takes pictures on his phone of one of the cars. Eddie turns around and waves to the camera with a smile when he realizes that Richie is filming him.] 

RICHIE

[in a vaguely australian accent] And ‘ere we have a real beauty. The wiold Kasprak, in his natural habitat. I’m putting my liofe in terrible danga standing this close to him- 

EDDIE

Oh, F*ck off. 

[Eddie sounds dismissive, but he is still smiling at Richie] 

RICHIE

Rioght now he’s choosing his next prey. And if I’m not careful, that’s going to be me. Those tiony hands could slap a man’s nasal cavity right out of his body. And his fangs hold a deadly venom- 

[Richie starts moving the camera lens up to Eddie’s mouth, putting it right in his face. The camera tilts off to the side, getting slapped away by Eddie, his voice calling out as the screen goes blurry]

EDDIE

STOP-

[HARD CUT ]

[Richie is standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C., being filmed by Eddie this time. Richie points behind his shoulder with his thumb, towards Lincoln.] 

RICHIE

Jeez, check out this guy. Got his own lighting team and everything. What’s a guy gotta do to get 24/7 spotlights like that, huh? 

EDDIE

The Emancipation Proclamation. 

RICHIE

… eh. Too much work. I’ll stick with the dick jokes. 

[HARD CUT]

[Eddie and Richie are on an observation deck in Philadelphia. They have the camera turned towards both of their faces, filming themselves and the view of the city skyline at the same time. They both lean into one another so they can both be in the shot, smiling at waving at the camera. ]

HARD CUT 

[Eddie and Richie are in a hotel room. The room is dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the TV as the ending credits for Reservoir Dogs plays. Eddie appears to be filming from a spot sitting on the floor. Richie is on the bed, propped up on pillows. He appears to be asleep, snoring lightly.] 

EDDIE

[in a hushed whisper] Richie fell asleep watching the movie… I think I heard him talking? 

[Eddie slowly moved to the side of the bed, close enough to pick up what Richie is saying]

RICHIE

… can’t go over there… 

EDDIE

[Softly, trying not to laugh] Why not, Richie? 

RICHIE

Mmmn. Wolves. 

EDDIE

There’s wolves?

RICHIE

Wolves guarding the door. 

EDDIE

Well. That’s not good. 

RICHIE

Give them a snack then they won’t be mad… 

EDDIE

I’ll do that. I’ve got some milk bones with me. You get some rest. 

[Eddie makes a dramatic show of taking off Richie’s glasses on screen, and tucks him gently into bed. He sets the camera down on the bed, facing away at one of the walls, so the screen doesn’t show what happens next. The only clue is the audio, Eddie speaking very softly, and a small rustling noise. ] 

EDDIE

I’m taking the wolves with me. Good night, Rich. Sweet dreams. 

[The camera cuts to black.] 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art at the end of this chapter was done by @moonbafoon on twitter!! QnQ Aka Babbyspanch on A03. THANK YOU SO MUCH IT IS BEAUTIFUL! Link to original tweet: https://twitter.com/moonbafoon/status/1238635847030890497?s=20
> 
> Plus a BONUS ART PIECE also by moonbafoon!   
> https://twitter.com/moonbafoon/status/1238659116211539969 - Scene by the river, post Terrible Bad Idea unsafe dinner seriously do not try that at home Eddie god


	8. Dessert part 1: Bitter-sweet Chocolate Torte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their experience with noodling, Eddie has a sudden surge of self-confidence and feels like doing something daring. Richie finally steps up to put a stop to it, and things take a bad turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO UH FIRST UP I AM SO SO SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS FINAL PART TOOK TO POST!!!! For reference if you're reading this way in the future and not right now, the world is kiiiinda going through a huge pandemic right now (gotta love Corona) and I work at an essential job so my schedule has been FRIED recently. Plus the end of this fic ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, so I took the extra time to try to get everything as right as I could. 
> 
> BUT IT'S HERE!!! ALL DONE! GETTING POSTED UP ALL AT ONCE!!! I hope it was worth the wait!!!

Eddie Kasprak, for the first time in his life, was faced with an alarming amount of self confidence. 

Despite his recent struggles, he was feeling fantastic. On top of the world.

Because he had done something amazing. Something that he never would have thought possible for himself. Not only did he get in a river, full of wild animals and plants and nature. He caught a fish with his hands. And he had video evidence to prove to the world that Eddie Kasprak caught a gigantic 50 pound catfish with his hands. 

When the crew all came together later that night and cooked their catch up at Pat’s home, it was one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted. It tasted like victory. Success. And it was so fresh, there was truly nothing like it. 

In the past few days, Eddie had caught a fish with his hands. He had discovered that he could eat just about anything without getting sick from it. He had told Myra to go back to New York. He’d thrown out all of his inhalers. 

He felt like he could do anything now. 

This was the thought process that led him to downloading a new app, as Richie drove the two of them down the road to their first hotel of their trip back. 

Eddie had obviously heard of Grindr before, but seeing it for himself was a whole new experience. The main part of the app was a list full of pictures of men (mostly shirtless), all looking to connect with other gay men. There were a lot less pictures of dicks on the list than Eddie expected, but he figured that those were more of a ‘I’ll share pics before we meet up’ sort of deal. 

Not that he wanted to meet up with anyone and have sex. He had heard somewhere that you don’t have to do that on the app. You could just meet up with someone, and have a casual date. 

Eddie was feeling daring. Daring enough to go out to a bar and meet a man he’d never spoken to before, and play with the idea that they might even kiss each other at the end of the night. 

He would have loved for that someone to be Richie, but sadly that wasn’t an option. 

Part of him felt guilty for feeling that way. He hadn’t _meant_ to fall for Richie, and he wasn’t even quite sure exactly when that happened. But somewhere along the line he started noticing how handsome Richie was. His chiseled jawline, his broad shoulders, the crooked swagger he walked with. 

Obviously Eddie knew that he was attracted to Richie physically after the sex dreams started, but then something else happened. Eddie started feeling this tiny little fluttering in his chest any time Richie smiled at him. He started genuinely missing Richie’s presence any time he flew back to California. He’d see random things out in the world when he was on his own and immediately thought ‘That’s something Richie would like’ or ‘Oh man I can’t wait to tell Richie about this’. 

He wasn’t sure when he fell in love, but he knew he had realized it on this trip. 

Being gay made sense to Eddie. It explained why he never felt anything further than appreciative affection towards his soon to be ex-wife. Most men in unhappy marriages went out and had affairs, but he had never met or seen a woman that made him feel tempted to do that. 

Being in love with Richie didn’t make sense. Not at first, anyhow. Richie was sloppy, and loud. He was generally attractive, but didn’t put any effort into his appearance. He certainly wasn’t seductive, had never gone out of his way to give Eddie special treatment or ‘woo’ him. 

But Richie was a good person. He was always there for his friends when they needed him. He was kind, and gentle, and funny, and smart, and Eddie wanted to spend every moment of his waking hours next to him. 

He loved it when Richie watched him. He wanted to keep his attention. Sometimes when Richie started picking on someone else, it took all of Eddie’s resolve to not push himself directly in the middle of the conversation so that Richie would start making fun of him again. 

But Eddie couldn’t do any of that. Because Richie was straight. 

The best that Eddie could do was try to figure out what sort of man he was interested in. If that ‘type’ was just Richie, he could try to find a gay version of Richie. Someone tall, and funny, who supported him and boosted his ego, who would hold him and keep him together when the whole world felt like it was crashing down around him. 

So Eddie set up a profile of his own on Grindr as Richie drove. 

He wasn’t sure if using his name on the platform was a good idea. He wasn’t as well known of a celebrity as Richie, but the idea that someone would recognize him using the app made him feel nervous. So he set his profile username as ‘TheTravelingFisherman’, and told himself he’d give out his name if he actually decided to meet up with someone. He his profile picture to one that Richie had taken of him right after they had caught the catfish, Eddie in sunglasses standing on the side of the river, holding up the fish and giving the camera a thumbs up. 

He put a short blurb into his profile. ‘Recently out, Traveling along the east coast for work, looking for casual meetings with other gay men.’ 

He set his height, his weight, and had a moment of elation when he realized he could set his HIV status, and see other’s statuses as well. A quick look through some profiles also showed that most men clearly stated the last time they had been tested, so Eddie added that information to his own profile. 

He checked the app periodically for the rest of the day. He received a good handful of messages, some of which he deleted almost immediately since it was clear from the content that the men sending those messages were only interested in sex. A few of them were actually quite pleasant people to talk to. They spoke about what they did for work, what their hobbies were, and other shockingly normal topics that had nothing to do with being gay. 

One of the men that Eddie had spoken with the longest was a faceless shot of a flexing torso named Kyle. Eddie hadn’t been sure about him at first, positive that all men with body shots in their profile pics were only on the app to get laid. But when Eddie had brought up his interest in cars, Kyle had answered back with a few full body pictures of himself standing next to some custom built ones. They went back and forth, talking about their favorite types of engines and which luxury cars were over-priced bullshit. 

He wasn’t as funny as Richie, but he was pretty entertaining and friendly. He was a whopping 6’3’’ tall, a definite plus in Eddie’s book. He was balding, but he wore the look with such confidence that Eddie couldn’t help but be impressed by it. Whatever hair he lacked on his head he more than made up for everywhere else on his body, another incredibly welcome added bonus.

Eddie wasn’t quite sure if he was interested in Kyle or not, but he could see himself being good friends with him. So later that night, after they had gotten to their first hotel and went to their rooms for the evening, and Kyle mentioned that they were probably close enough to one another to meet at a bar somewhere for a few drinks, Eddie accepted. 

And he was excited about it. Bubbling with energy. He had even told Kyle flat out that he wasn’t interested in hooking up, and Kyle had respectfully agreed that their meeting would only be as friends. 

Eddie really wanted to have a gay friend. All of his best friends back at the Test Kitchen were wonderful people, but the thought of talking to them about his interest in men made him feel nervous. They’d support him no matter what, obviously, and he would eventually come out to them. But they wouldn’t be able to fully understand what he was going through. He wanted to have someone to talk to who just _got_ it. Who understood what Eddie was thinking because they had lived through the same problems, and who could give him advice from personal life experience. 

And this was his chance to meet someone like that. But first, Eddie had to get the keys to their rental car from Richie. 

Eddie left his hotel room, and made his way over to Richie’s. He knew that Richie would probably have questions for him, but had no idea just how much information he would give away. He had to tell him something close to the truth, Richie was too perceptive to be fooled by a weak lie. 

He decided to do whatever felt right in the moment. No matter what happened, Richie wouldn’t judge him for anything. He was supportive. A good friend. Eddie could trust him. 

So Eddie knocked on Richie’s hotel door, smiling as soon as it opened. 

“Hey, buddy. What’s up? Miss me?” Richie asked, leaning against the door frame with a crooked smile. 

Eddie laughed lightly, shaking his head. 

“You wish. I actually need the car keys, I’m going out,” he said. 

“Out?” Richie asked, while fishing through his pocket for the keys, handing them over to Eddie right away. “You forget to pack a third tube of toothpaste or something? Want me to come with?” 

“Actually…” and here it was. Eddie’s moment. Big decision time. 

“... I’m meeting someone at a bar,” he admitted. There. It was out. 

And it was worth it. Richie’s smirk grew, and he waggled his eyebrows at Eddie in a way that made him start laughing again. 

“Well, well, well. You _Dog_. Not even a week after you get your freedom and you’re already hitting the ol’ dusty trail again,” said Richie. 

“Yeah, well… I guess I’m just feeling pretty good about myself right now, you know? And my relationship with Myra was bad for so long, I don’t really feel bad about getting out there and meeting people so soon after,” Eddie said, pink lightly dusting over his cheeks. “I feel like… I’ve earned this?” 

“Good for you!” Richie exclaimed, reaching out and giving Eddie’s shoulder a firm pat. “Get some, Kasprak!” 

“I’m not going to be _getting_ any, Richie. We’re just meeting up for drinks.” 

“So you say. You never know where the night will take you, Eds. Bring some protection with you, just in case,” Richie said, with an over-the-top wink. “So. Who's the lucky lady? Got any pics?” 

Eddie paused again. He could have lied. He could tell Richie that he was meeting a woman. But something about that didn’t feel right. This was Richie. Sure, he’d probably make a very off-color joke about it. And he’d continue making those crass jokes for the rest of the trip. But he’d understand. He wouldn’t be cruel about it. 

“Actually… I’m meeting a man,” Eddie said, hesitantly. 

Eddie expected a few things to follow that. He expected Richie to crack a joke. He expected Richie to be surprised. 

But he was only met with silence. The triumphant smirk that was on Richie’s face slowly dropped, and he took a fair amount of time to register what Eddie had said. 

It was uncomfortable. Incredibly uncomfortable. And it was getting worse by the second. 

Eddie fidgeted and shifted his weight, looking away from Richie’s face. No idea what was going through his head. Was it that much of a shock? Was he upset? 

After what seemed like ages of Richie staring at him, he finally spoke up. 

“You’re not gay,” said Richie. 

Eddie’s gaze shot back to Richie’s face. 

“Fuck you,” he snapped back immediately. Not in the playful way he had started to say it to Richie over the past few months. He was angry. “What if I am? Actually? No. I _am_. I am gay. And I’m pretty sure I’ve been gay for my whole life. I’ve never been happy with Myra-” 

“You weren’t happy with Myra because she was a manipulative piece of shit,” Richie answered. He was standing up now, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched up. 

“Yeah, but- … she wasn’t as bad as my mother. I don’t think we were good for each other, but… she tried. She really did. And she’ll probably be a great wife for someone else, but we never had a chance in the first place because I was never going to be able to love her the way she needed to be loved. And I haven’t even been attracted to other women besides her,” Eddie tried to explain. 

“You’ve been married for like, ten thousand years dude. You don’t even know what you find attractive anymore, you haven’t been thinking about it-” 

“Yes I have!” Eddie said, waving his hands in frustration. “I _like_ men! I have been thinking about having sex with men! And only men! And I’m pretty sure I would have been thinking about it a lot sooner if I hadn’t spent my entire childhood being convinced that all gay men have AIDS because it’s a disease created by god to kill off gay people for- what am I even explaining this to you for? I don’t have to justify myself right now. I’m not doing anything wrong.” 

“Yes. You are,” Richie said bluntly. 

Eddie’s head started spinning. This was not the way he thought this conversation was going to go. This was in fact, the furthest thing possible from what he expected to happen. And it hurt. 

“... wow. Richie, not going to lie. I honestly didn’t expect you to be homophobic,” he said, taking a small step back away from the door frame. 

“I’m not!” Richie tried to say, shoulders curling up even more into his neck. “Honestly, I don’t give a shit. You’re gay? Fine. Whatever. Good for you. But what you’re doing right now has ‘bad idea’ written all over it. I get it, you just got out of a horrible marriage, and you’re having a mid-life crisis break down where all you want to do is stupid shit you never got to do before. But you’ve got to draw the line somewhere before you get yourself killed.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie replied. “Seriously. Go fuck yourself, Richie.” 

“I am _trying_ to be a good friend right now!” Richie exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, before sighing and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Seriously. Back in the diner, I shouldn’t have let you eat all of that shit. But I did, because you were having a rough time, and I was around to save you in case things went bad. And I threw out your inhalers with you, because we already had pretty good evidence that you don’t actually have asthma. But this? I can’t let you do this.” 

“Why not?!” Eddie exclaimed, voice beginning to rise in volume. “It’s just a date!” 

“Because we’re in fucking _Georgia_ , dipshit!” Richie shouted back, unable to keep his own volume down. “Do you know what people do for fun around here? They make fake profiles on gay dating sites, set up dates with, then show up with all of their buddies in a pick-up truck so they can drag the guy off somewhere and beat the shit out of him. Even if he is actually gay, whose to say he’s not going to drug your drink and do some fucked up shit to you? There’s a million possibilities here, and most of them would end very very badly for you. So no. I’m not going to just sit back and cheer you on while you go out and risk everything just so you can experiment with your sexuality.” 

Eddie was not handling this well. He wanted to scream at Richie, or cry, or kick something over. He wanted to know why Richie was being such an asshole about this. This wasn’t the Richie he knew. The Richie he knew would have supported him, told him to send him a text as soon as he got to and left the bar and offered to be backup if Eddie needed it. 

Richie held out a hand towards Eddie. 

“Give me the keys back, and let what’s-his-dick know you can’t make it,” he said. 

“No.” 

“Eddie-”

“No!” Eddie shouted, shoving the keys in his pocket before Richie could try to take them back by force. “Fuck you! You can’t just tell me what I can and can’t do! I’m a grown man, I can make these decisions on my own!” 

Eddie was starting to feel sick. It reminded him way too much of his conversations with Myra. Not being allowed to do something he knew would make him happy, because she was too afraid of him getting hurt doing it. Eddie was tired of letting fear control his life. He was tired of hiding. 

“I’m going, whether you like it or not!” 

“Fine! You do that! Fuck me for caring!” Richie shouted, throwing his hands up in the air again. “Go ahead and suck some strangers dick in an alleyway, whatever!” 

“Maybe I will!” Eddie said, getting carried away by his emotions. “Maybe I’ll like him enough to take him back to my hotel! Or we could just have sex in the back of the car!! Maybe I’ll fucking ride him and get jizz all over the place and not even clean it up! Because that’s _my_ decision to make! And not yours!!!” 

“Good! Good for you!,” Richie said. “I hope you have the best sex of your life! If you want your asshole ruptured, go for it. Be my guest. Have fun getting HIV or whatever.” 

Richie knew he fucked up the second those words left his mouth. 

Richie was the king of saying stupid shit when he was upset. He had the mystical power of finding the exact worst thing to say in any given moment, and was compelled by some inner demon to shoot it out before any sort of mental filter could pick it up and hold it back. 

Eddie didn’t say anything at first. He looked shocked, and hurt. 

“... Eddie, look-” Richie tried to say. He wanted to backpedal, tell Eddie that he hadn’t meant it. He was joking. Richie was an idiot, you shouldn’t take anything he says seriously. 

But Eddie wouldn’t let him. 

“ _Don’t_.” he said, flatly. The confusion and upset was gone, replaced by raw anger. His hands were shaking now. And Richie couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

“Just… don’t.” Eddie added after. His voice was much quieter now. Barely audible. 

And then he turned. And he left. Speed-walking past the rest of the hotel rooms, having to get away. To put as much distance in between himself and Richie as possible. 

Richie exited his hotel room into the night air, calling after Eddie. 

“Eddie! Eddie, come on! I- …. I’m sorry! Okay? I … shit,” he tried, stopping when he realized that Eddie wasn’t going to change his mind and come back. 

Eddie was going to go out, and meet a stranger at a bar. And have drinks with him. And possibly make out with him. Maybe more. Or he was going to go and get jumped by a bunch of violent psychopathic homophobes. 

And Richie couldn’t do anything about it. The only thing he had managed to accomplish was making Eddie upset. So even if he was in danger, there was a huge chance that he wouldn’t try to call Richie to ask for help. 

“Fuck!” Richie shouted at himself, punching the door of the hotel. 

It slammed shut, and Richie suddenly realized that his hotel key was still back in the room. 

“... Fuck…” he said again, with much less gusto. He leaned back against the door, and slid down until he was sitting on the ground outside of his room. He took off his glasses, and rested his face on his knees. 

‘ _Honestly, this might be a blessing in disguise_ ,’ he told himself. ‘ _Eddie doesn’t need a fuck-up like me. This guy he’s meeting could be the love of his life. He’ll actually be able to give him the life that Eddie deserves. I can’t even be a good friend without fucking it up. He’ll be better off without me_.’ 

After a good ten minutes of self-loathing, Richie came to a decision. 

He pulled out his phone, pulling up his text messages with Bill. 

Once he got to the text chain, he started to draft a new message, explaining that he wasn’t going to be re-newing his contract with the test kitchen when he returned to Boston. 

He couldn’t put Eddie through something like this again. It wasn’t going to get better. It was going to get worse, and worse, until Richie broke everything beyond repair. Good things never lasted around Richie. It was his responsibility to end things before they got to that point. 

\- - - - - - - - 

Eddie didn’t go on his date. 

He got into the car, and drove, but he never made it to the bar. He just pulled off to the side of the road, and sat in silence, staring at the driving wheel in front of him. 

A part of him still really wanted to go. Kyle seemed so nice, and he wanted to show up anyhow just to prove to Richie how wrong he was about the situation. 

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the worst case scenarios. What if Kyle wasn’t a real person at all? What if Richie was right, and the whole thing was just an elaborate set up for a hate crime? Or, even if it was real, sexually transmitted diseases were also a horrible reality. People could lie about their HIV status. They could lie about when they had tests done. Even if Eddie didn’t end up doing anything, knew that that wasn’t their original intention, the thought of someone next to him secretly having AIDS made him start feeling short of breath. His heart hammered in his chest, mind cycling through every single stupid thing his mother had told him about it as a child. 

You can get AIDS just by someone breathing on you. It was more contagious when you were gay because your blood wasn’t as clean. Everyone in New York has AIDS because the city is packed too closely together, and they don’t clean the streets properly. Once you have AIDs there’s no cure for it, you just keep getting sicker and sicker until you die and then your body has to be burned so no one else can catch it while burying you. It makes pieces of your body fall off, and your eyes turn yellow, and gives you horrible sores on your face. 

He knew it wasn’t real. It was all bullshit. But it felt real. And he was sweating, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

His hand automatically went for his pocket, where he normally kept his inhaler. Then he remembered that he didn’t have one. He had thrown it away. 

Eddie slammed his hands against the steering wheel, then crashed his forehead down against the center of it, making the car scream out with a loud extended honk. 

After the honk stopped, Eddie stayed there for a while. He had lost track of time, but he knew he had to have been stopped by the side of the road there for at least an hour. Alone with his thoughts, just contemplating. 

He knew that Richie hadn’t meant what he said. He was an asshole that said stupid shit all the time. But Eddie still couldn’t help but feel deeply betrayed. 

He had trusted Richie. Genuinely thought that Richie would have his back no matter what. Richie had been so supportive when he thought that Eddie was about to meet a woman, and had turned on him the second he found out that Eddie was interested in men. 

Eddie had no idea why. 

Maybe Richie had a point about the safety aspect of it. Eddie had been behaving irrationally over the past few days. But there was no reason to be such a dick about it. He could have convinced Eddie to change his mind if he had phrased things better, but all he managed to do was make Eddie feel like an idiot who couldn’t take care of himself. 

The same thing that his mother had done to him. And Myra. And Eddie wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to forgive Richie for that. 

But first he had to figure out why Richie had done it. Why Richie had responded to his genuine enthusiasm with bitterness and venom instead of the kind friendship that Eddie had grown so used to. 

Eddie might have stayed in that car for quite some time longer, thinking to himself, if it had not been for a well-meaning passerby who noticed him off to the side of the road, and pulled over to see if he was having problems or needed help with his car. 

Eddie pulled himself together, and politely told the stranger that he was fine. Just lost, he lied. He explained that his phone died, and he needed to get back to the Holiday Inn. 

The stranger gave him some directions, Eddie thanked her, and made his way back down the road. 

He thought about texting Richie when he got back, to let him know he hadn’t gotten kidnapped out on the road. But instead, he put his phone back in his pocket, and went back to his hotel room. 

He needed time. He wasn’t ready to talk to Richie again. And he was really starting to dread the rest of their drive back home. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Unfortunately for both of them, traveling the rest of the way back on their own was not an option. Mike and the filming crew had taken a different route back up to Boston, because originally Richie and Eddie had planned to make a few extra sight-seeing pit stops on their way home. 

Without speaking to each other, they both seemed to agree that sight-seeing wasn’t going to be happening anymore. They were going straight back, which would shave a day off of their commute, only stopping for meals and hotel rooms for the night. 

They didn’t speak at all for two days. Any time they stopped somewhere to eat, Eddie immediately made his way across the building from Richie, as far away as he could get. They ate alone, and eventually ended up back at the car when they were done to continue driving. 

They didn’t even play music. Whoever wasn’t driving spent the entire time on their phone as a means of entertainment, while whoever drove focused on the road. 

Eddie wasn’t sure how he was going to explain the silence to everyone else when they got back. He’d probably just tell them that they had a fight, and that he didn’t want to talk about it. Then everyone else would respect their privacy, as Eddie tried to figure out where he wanted to go from there. 

Apparently he didn’t have to wait until they got back. On the final night before they were scheduled to arrive back in Boston, he received a text from Bill. 

‘ _Hey, Eddie. Hows it going?’_ the text read. 

Eddie debated on how he was going to answer, before he shot back a simple ‘ _It’s fine_.’ 

‘ _You sure about that?_ ’ Bill asked immediately. 

Oh. So he knew something. He had to, and he was checking in with Eddie to confirm it. 

‘ _Why? Did Richie say something?_ ’ Eddie asked. Kept it simple. No need to spill anything yet. 

It took a bit longer for Bill to respond this time. The ellipses came up a few times, signaling that Bill was typing, before they would disappear again. 

Finally, Eddie received a reply from Bill. 

_‘Yeah. Richie told me he doesn’t want to re-sign his contract when you get back from your trip. Tried asking about it, but he just said he doesn’t want to “fuck things up”. Didn’t really listen when I tried to tell him he wasn’t fucking anything up. Did something happen?’_

Motherfucker. 

Eddie hadn’t considered this as a possibility. He was so wrapped up in his own conflict, he had completely forgotten that Richie hadn’t re-signed his contract yet. 

He wanted more time to think things over. But Richie wasn’t going to give him that. 

Eddie found himself growing angry again. He imagined a reality where things stayed exactly as they were. If things went on like this, the noodling saga would be Richie’s last video. They’d get home to Boston, Richie would drop Eddie off at his apartment where Myra might or might not still be staying in, and then he’d get on a plane to go back to California. 

They’d never speak to each other again. Richie would continue with his career, and Eddie might see him on tv once or twice, but they’d never run into each other again. Never be in the same room. They’d probably delete each other’s numbers off of their phones, never text, never call. And that would be it. The end of the saga. The final chapter. Nothing resolved, only bitter resentment and a lifetime of ‘what-ifs’. 

If Richie thought that ending things with Eddie was going to be that easy, he had another thing coming. 

‘ _I’ll talk to him_ ’ Eddie texted to Bill, before setting his phone down, and making his way out of his hotel room. 

\- - - - - - - - 

Richie was going through the process of his newest nightly ritual. 

The same thing he had done every night since that argument with Eddie. 

He’d sit in his room, with a bottle of Jack Daniels, and feel bad for a good portion of the evening. Thinking over all of the ways he could have handled that conversation so much better, the things he could have said, what he’d do if he could re-do the whole thing. 

And then he’d realize that even if he had the chance he’d probably do the same thing all over again, or fuck it up in a completely different but equally as heinous manner, and pound back another shot. 

Another half hour of self-loathing, and he’d find himself in front of his hotel door. Hand paused, just before it hit the doorknob. 

He’d tell himself that he should go and apologize to Eddie. Eddie deserved an apology. It wouldn’t fix anything, but it would be the right thing to do. 

Maybe he’d even let everything loose. He could get down on his knees, and beg for Eddie to forgive him. Let him know that the only reason he was such an asshole was because finding out that Eddie might be gay had hurt. Because Eddie was so brave, so easily willing to accept something that Richie had never been able to face. He had said it like it was nothing. Going out for drinks with a man. Like it was as natural as breathing air. 

He could tell Eddie that he was in love with him. Tell him that he didn’t want Eddie seeing other men. Promise him that if Eddie gave him a chance, he’d treat him better than any other man could. He’d do anything for Eddie. He’d cook him dinner every night. He’d give him flowers every day. He would worship the ground he walked on, pray to him like a God. Because Eddie was the best thing that had ever happened to Richie, and the idea of someone else coming in and taking that from him felt like his chest was being torn open. 

And then he’d pull his hand away from the doorknob before it made contact. 

Because he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. And even if Eddie did listen to him, and give Richie what he wanted, he didn’t deserve it. 

And he’d walk back to his bed, and drink himself into oblivion. 

Richie had just been about to do that. His hand was already pulled back from the door, verbally assaulting himself again. 

He was already turning to leave when the knocking came. Hard and fast, so sudden it made Richie jump back from the door. 

Richie considered ignoring it. He stopped, and waited, hoping that the silence would be enough of an answer to get Eddie to give up and go back to his room. But he didn’t. Any time Richie thought he was in the clear the knocking would start up again, louder and more insistent than before. 

Richie knew there was no getting out of this by the time Eddie started yelling at the door, demanding that Richie open it. So with a defeated sigh, Richie stepped forward and cracked the door. 

“Keep it down, you’re going to wake people up,” Richie said in a dull tone, trying to keep calm. “What.” 

Eddie wasted no time getting to the point. 

“You’re not going to renew your contract?” he asked accusingly. 

“Well. Yeah. Kind of thought we were on the same page after you told me to go fuck myself,” said Richie. He still felt horrible. He was doing the same shit all over again. He was supposed to be apologizing. But instead he was arguing, making it seem like the entire situation was Eddie’s fault when they both knew that wasn’t the case. 

Prick. 

“How about you stop deciding what I want and fucking ask me?” Eddie replied, brows pushed firmly together on his forehead. Then he smelled the air, and made a face. “Are you drinking right now?”

Richie moved one of his hands into the view from the doorway, presenting his bottle. “Finest whiskey money can buy. You want some?” 

“No,” said Eddie. And left it at that. 

“... fine. I’ll bite. What _do_ you want,” Richie asked. 

“I want to talk about this!” Eddie said, throwing his hands around as he was apt to do when speaking passionately. 

“That is not a good idea,” said Richie. Because it wasn’t. It was a terrible idea. They weren’t going to get anywhere. And Richie was just tipsy enough to have lost what little mental filter he normally possessed. He was bound to say something stupid again, and make the situation even worse. 

“Would you _stop_ doing that!” Eddie exclaimed, frustration growing by the second. 

“Doing what?”

“Shooting things down before you even know whether or not it's going to work! It _is_ a good idea. We have to do this. If you still want to fuck off and work somewhere else after we’re done talking, then fine. That’s your choice. But I still have things I need to say!” Eddie insisted. Then his tone changed ever so slightly, with less bite and hostility than it had before. 

“And… I thought that our friendship was important. We’ve had some really good times. Even if you do decide to leave… I still want to be friends with you. And we’re not going to get back to that point unless you let me know why you’re being such an asshole.” 

Of course, whether or not that friendship stayed intact would be dependent on Richie’s answer, if he answered at all. But even after the argument they had, Eddie still wanted to be Richie’s friend. Two days of not hearing Richie’s voice had felt like all of the sunshine and color had been sucked out of his world. It made him regret any time he had told Richie to shut up in the past, because all of a sudden he craved nothing more than his horrible impressions and crude jokes. 

Eddie couldn’t let him go without trying to fix it. 

“Trust me, Eddie. You do not want to be my fr-” 

“I am not finished speaking!” Eddie interjected before Richie could finish that thought. “We’re talking about this. _Now_. If you’re not going to do it for our friendship, do it because you pissed me off and now you owe me an explanation.” 

Richie considered his options. 

He could just tell Eddie to go back to bed, and shut the door. That would bring them back to the results of the original plan of getting the hell outta dodge. It was the result that seemed to make the most sense in Richie’s mind. No more chances for disaster, Eddie would probably be better off without him around, the channel keeps its success and newly dedicated fan base. 

The only difference was, the original plan had been much less confrontational. Richie could quietly slide out the back door, and never look back. 

Now if he wanted out, he had to say it directly to Eddie’s face. 

And Richie was a coward. 

“... Fine,” he finally said, stepping aside and opening the door more. “Get in. If you’re going to start yelling, you might as well do it somewhere with a minimal amount of sound-proofing.” 

Eddie nodded, and walked into the room, letting Richie close and lock the door behind them. 

“Good,” he began with, eyeing his surroundings. 

“Listen, man, I-” 

“Ah!!!!” Eddie said, waving a finger in Richie’s direction. “No. _I’m_ talking first. You sit down and listen. I will let you know when I want you to talk.” 

Richie’s eyebrows shot up a bit, and stared at Eddie for a few moments. Instead of his usual witty retort however, he nodded dumbly, and took his bottle of whiskey with him as he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Right. So. I’ve been thinking. First of all, fuck you. HIV? Really? You know I’m terrified of getting sick. That was so fucking uncool of you to say,” he started. 

“I’m so-” 

“No!” Eddie cut in again. “Save it for the end. You can say whatever you want when I’m done.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, before he started pacing across the room. 

“That was hurtful, and you know that. I don’t think you said it because you were _trying_ to hurt me, but it still made me feel like shit. You owe me an apology for that. And you know what? Even if we took out that last part, the rest of that whole conversation was so fucking unfair!”

“I told you about going on a date because I was excited about it! And I thought you’d be happy for me! And I get it, sure. You might have had a point about the dangers of online dating. I didn’t even google that guy to see if he was a real person or not. I didn’t think that dating as a gay man would be different from how it was before, but I was wrong. Because I’ve never dated as a gay guy before. I have no idea what it's like. I get that you were trying to make sure I didn’t get hurt, but…. But you were such a dick about it!!” 

“I mean, you were treating me like an idiot! And you told me that I’m not gay? What the fuck was up with that? I know I only recently started to realize I like men, and I’m not even out yet, you’re the only person I’ve told, but I don’t think it’s stupid of me to want to date men _now_!”

“I have been _so_ lonely. I’ve been lonely for my whole life. And all I’ve ever done is wait around, and do nothing, and I’m tired of doing that! I want to start living _now_ , before it's too late to do anything about it! So yeah! I’m going to eat a bunch of shit that isn’t good for me! And I’m going to fuck a ton of dudes! I’m going to suck a whole train load of dicks! And I’ll try to listen to you if you tell me something I’m doing is dangerous, but I need you to still be supportive! I know it’s hard for you to get. You don’t know what it’s like to have to keep something inside you for so long, because it’s not ‘right’ or ‘normal’. You’re straight, and-”

“I’m not.”

Eddie stopped pacing. The room was silent. 

“... what?” 

Richie’s fingers clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle. 

He had time. He could still pull that back. Now was his chance. 

“I’m not straight.” 

The rest of Eddie’s rant flew out the window. 

He stared at Richie, as the man on the bed focused solely on the bottle in his hand. 

“... what?” asked Eddie. Still processing. 

Richie took a gigantic swig of his bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist after getting it down. 

“I’m gay as hell, dude.” 

Eddie was still stunned. 

“Sign me up for the dick-sucking train. I’m down.” 

And Eddie was still stunned. 

“Just line them all up and watch me go. You start at one end, I’ll start at the other, we can meet in the middle and fight over who gets the last one.” 

Still stunned. 

“... Eds, if you don’t say something, I am going to stick my hand into an electrical socket.” 

“WHAT?!” Eddie finally yelled. While it was indeed an addition to the conversation, it wasn’t getting them very far beyond Richie’s initial point. 

“Please don’t make me say it again. I don’t have enough whisky to get through that.” 

But Eddie couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

His original theory about his disagreement with Richie had been that he just didn’t get it. He was straight, and he’d never had to go through something like Eddie was. So maybe he was a little homophobic, but Eddie could put up with being friends with Richie if he was just a little homophobic. They would never be close friends, but as long as he remained respectful Eddie could see himself still talking to him. 

But he wasn’t homophobic. He was gay. And that changed everything. 

So why was Richie so cool with Eddie dating women, and mad when he started seeing men? Why would a gay man be angry with another gay man for being gay? Why would he be so mean about it if he understood exactly what Eddie was going through? How did he not realize the Richie was also gay?

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Eddie asked as soon as the question entered his head. 

“I haven’t told anyone!” Richie said defensively, already hitting the bottle up for another shot. 

Eddie was starting to question a lot more than their argument now. 

Had the signs been there this whole time? Richie didn’t look gay. He never looked like he was checking other men out. Sure, he fake flirted with men, but he did that with Bev too. And he didn’t say he was bi. He said he was gay. But all his interactions with men were perfectly normal and average. 

Or were they? Eddie thought back to some of his most treasured memories with Richie. The few times Richie’s hand had lingered on some part of Eddie’s body, and how Eddie only noticed it because he liked the contact so much he never wanted it to go away. That never happened with the other men in the kitchen. Did it?

And how sometimes he and Richie would look at each other from across the room, and just stare. And keep staring. Neither one willing to break eye contact first. That never happened with anyone else. 

Did Richie stand that close to anyone else on a regular basis, or was that just Eddie? Did Richie text anyone else in the kitchen funny images of cats at three in the morning? What kind of men did Richie go for? Had he ever dated anyone? 

“Did you ever flirt with me?” Eddie asked. 

“No! I mean- like, fake shit, maybe. But not actually. At least, not on purpose,” Richie replied nervously. 

“Why not?”

“What do you _mean_ why not?” asked Richie, exacerbated. 

“You don’t think I look attractive? Is it because we’re too close and you aren’t attracted to close personal friends? Am I not your type?”

“I thought you were straight until three nights ago!”

“What about now?”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Richie asked again. He had no idea where this conversation was going anymore. Eddie had the wheel, and he was dead-set on sending them hurtling over the nearest cliff. 

“You know I’m gay. And you’re gay.”

“Just because two guys are gay doesn’t mean they have to be into each other.”

“So just answer the question. Say you’re not interested in me.”

Richie rubbed at his face, as Eddie stood, hands on his hips, waiting for an answer. 

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive. You’re hot, anyone with eyeballs can see that. This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not a complete asshole. You _just_ separated from your wife,” Richie tried to explain. “Really didn’t seem like a good time to lay on the moves.” 

“So you _are_ interested in me,” said Eddie. 

“Why does it matter?!” Richie said, throwing his arms out to the side. “Whether I like you or not it’s-... I can’t do anything about it. Even if you flung yourself at me right now, and I _was_ attracted to you, I’d still have to turn you down. You’re going through a lot right now. And your life over the next few weeks is going to be crazy. Do yourself a favor, don’t worry about this right now. Give yourself some time to focus on just you. Think it over.”

“... and after I settle everything, if I still want to know whether or not you are attracted to me, you’ll tell me.”

Richie let out the longest, most aggravated sigh known to mankind. 

“You are seriously not going to drop this, are you.” 

“Not a chance.”

“... fine,” Richie finally agreed. 

“How long?” Eddie asked, the instant he got Richie to agree to his demands. 

“How long what.”

“How long do I have to wait? I’m not waiting until the divorce goes through, that could take a year. How long until I can ask you again?” Eddie continued, not budging from his spot in the center of the floor. 

“You are the most stubborn little shit I’ve ever met,” said Richie. He thought about it for a few moments, calculating how much time any reasonable person should wait between huge life-changing decisions. “One month. Give it a month, think about it, and if you haven’t prayed the gay away by then, we’ll talk. Kapeesh?” 

“... And you’ll still be here?” Eddie asked after, remembering the yet-unsigned contract. 

“I’ll still be here. I’ll re-up on my contract with Bill for another 6 months. Promise. Whether or not you actually want to… whatever this is we’re doing… even if we never talk about this again, I’ll stick around. As a friend,” Richie said. 

This seemed to satisfy Eddie’s demands. He gave Richie an approving nod, taking his hands off of his hips. 

“Good. That’s all I wanted to hear,” Eddie said with finality. He was about to turn to walk out of the room, considering their conversation a success, before Richie spoke up one last time. 

“Hey… Eddie?” 

“Yeah, Richie?”

“... sorry for being an asshole to you. You’re right. That wasn’t cool,” said Richie. 

Eddie smiled, gently. 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” 

“Please don’t tell anyone about me being… you know,” Richie added, shoulders scrunching up uncomfortably again. 

“Are you kidding me? Jesus- Rich, I would never. Not even if I was mad at you,” Eddie replied. The very idea of doing something like that sent Eddie’s blood boiling, but he cooled himself down enough to add in, “... and you know you can talk to me. Right? Now that we both know we’re in the same boat.” 

“I will never take you up on that offer, but thanks. Maybe if I see a nice dick out in the wild I’ll take a picture and send it to you-” 

  
“Oh my god Richie can you literally not get through _one_ nice moment without destroying it-”


	9. Dessert part 2: Cherry Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie return back home, entering into a whole new status quo. 
> 
> They've settled their argument, but now a whole new question hangs in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY PARTY PEOPLE GUESS WHAT TIME IT IS 
> 
> IF YOU HARD!!!! THEN YOU HARD!!!!! THE MOMENT IS HERE. THE TENSION HAS BEEN BUILT. OUR BOYS ARE G-G-G-GETTING ITTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Myra had moved all of her things out of the apartment by the time Eddie got back into Boston. 

Eddie hadn’t been sure if she would or not. She had sent him a boat-load of texts and voice messages, but he hadn’t read through or listened to any of it. He was too nervous about something in those messages convincing him to change his mind. That was the point of it. Myra wanted to beg Eddie to reconsider, and Eddie didn’t want to have to listen to it. 

But she was gone, and Eddie was left with the bare bones of an apartment, with too much space in it. 

He had expected the entire experience to be freeing. It still was, in a way, but his first night back in the apartment was still horrible. Walking around and realizing how little influence he had in how their home was set up. Everything in the living room was gone. His room remained untouched, and most of the kitchen remained behind, but every single fake plant and touch of decoration had been taken away. 

After Eddie took down all of the photos of him and Myra together, the walls were completely empty. 

But he wasn’t alone. The moment he started to feel the loneliest, suddenly his life was crowded by the influence of the Loser Test Kitchen. 

They all texted him after everyone had returned to their homes for the night, and on their days off. 

Mike and Ben took Eddie to Ikea, and they all helped him build furniture and set up decorations to replace everything Myra had taken with her. 

More often than not, one of them would offer to stay over Eddie’s place for the night, and crash in what they had turned from Myra’s old bedroom into a guest bedroom. Even Stan and Patty, who both showed up to his home with a tiny ‘housewarming cake’, and promised not to have any sex in the guest bed. 

Eddie took the group up on these offers often in the earlier days, but started turning them down once the silence in his apartment stopped bothering him as much. 

Richie never stayed over unless one of the others was staying as well, but kept text conversations going with Eddie late into the night any time Eddie needed to talk to someone. Sometimes they even called, both laying in their own beds, sometimes thousands of miles apart, talking about whatever random nonsense came up. 

And things became easier. Eddie’s lawyers got in contact with Myra, and they started to plan their divorce. Most of the work was already done for them, as they had signed a pre-nup before getting married. But Eddie’s lawyers still warned him that New York lawyers are sharks. It was going to be a fight until the very end. 

But it was still easier than any day of his marriage he had lived through. Because now he had someone else to tell Myra ‘no’ for him. He had a signed document already laying out how much he was willing to give her, and she couldn’t argue or cry her way out of it. 

Eddie also made an announcement about his allergies, once he got the official test results back. They made a video about it, where he explained the circumstances in broad terms, without getting too deep into his childhood trauma. 

The audience feedback had some mixed results, but it was mostly positive and supportive. 

So Eddie started to eat more things that he had never been allowed to have. He drank beers that were chock-full of gluten. He joined in when everyone taste-tested pizza that one of them cooked for an episode. He had a snickers bar that he kept in his kitchen at home, and every so often he’d cut off a bite-sized portion of it and snack on it. 

Things were getting better. And things with Richie were… interesting. 

Not in a bad way. At least, Eddie didn’t think it was bad. There were clearly no more hard feelings between them. Eddie had forgiven Richie, and Richie had accepted that Eddie wanted to keep him around. 

But it was different. 

They rarely yelled around each other anymore. They had always done that, before. Richie would say something stupid, and it would get Eddie worked up, and before long they would both be shouting at each other’s faces. 

That still started to happen sometimes. But once it started, as Eddie was ramping up to fire something back at the other man, Richie would get up into his space and Eddie’s words died in his mouth. 

And instead of shouting, he’d just smile. Or he’d laugh, and quietly tell Richie that he was being a prick. 

“Mmm. Maybe. Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” Richie would say back, just as softly. 

And every time he said it, Eddie felt like he had just drank a cup of hot chocolate. Warm and toasty from the inside out. 

Everything Richie did suddenly felt like a new experience, even if it was things they had done hundreds of times before. 

Richie would reach over Eddie’s shoulder to get something from a shelf in front of them, and Eddie could suddenly feel the heat of Richie’s arm in the air around the side of his face. 

Or they’d be doing something as simple as washing their hands next to one another, and their elbows would accidentally knock into each other, and Eddie would be filled with the impulse to do it again on purpose just for the sensation of his bare skin brushing up against Richie. 

Sometimes, in group meetings, they happened to be sitting next to each other. But Richie sat with his knees spread out, so any time they were on the couch together, their knees would always end up touching. And every other noise around Eddie would fizzle out into static. He couldn’t feel any sensation through the fabric of his pants, but he could feel the pressure. The contact. 

He couldn’t help himself. After the third time it happened, Eddie had to do something about it. So while Bev was getting ready to present a new show idea, Eddie leaned back against the cushions behind him, as if trying to take up a more relaxing position. He crossed his arms over his chest, lifted the leg that had been in contact with Richie’s, and hooked it over Richie’s leg. 

He saw Richie tense up slightly, but he didn’t do anything to remove Eddie’s leg from its position on top of his own. He just stared down at it, before looking back to Eddie’s face. 

“And what is it about my body that makes me look like a free leg-rest?” he asked, casually as he could. 

“I got sick of you shoving your legs into my space. Deal with it,” Eddie answered. 

“I think you’re crushing one of my major arteries right now. I can’t feel my leg anymore,” said Richie, his hand floating aimlessly by his shoulder as he struggled to find a place to put it. 

“You sure the blood isn’t all going somewhere else?” Eddie asked, lightly tapping Richie’s calf with the back of his heel. 

Richie opened and closed his mouth a few times, before shifting his body slightly and clearing his throat. 

“Awww. Was that your first dick joke ever? I am so proud of you,” he replied. Keeping it cool. 

“I make dick jokes all the time, asshole,” Eddie said, even as he laughed slightly. He reached up with one hand, slapping Richie’s shoulder lightly with the back of his hand. “You just don’t listen to anything that isn’t coming out of your own mouth.” 

Richie smiled right back at him, knocking his knuckles down softly against the top of Eddie’s knee. 

“Maybe I’d start listening more if you came up with better material?” 

“I am _hilarious_ ,” said Eddie, planting a firm karate chop to the side of Richie’s arm. “You’d better watch out. I’m coming for your job, Tozier.” 

“Not if I kill you first~” Richie sang out, grabbed Eddie’s leg with one hand, and hooked one of his fingers under the back of his knee, pressing up into the soft joint there. 

Eddie let out something between a cry of terror and a laugh, curling over into Richie and trying to pull his leg out of his grasp. 

“AUGH! Fuck, dude st-ahaha-STOP!” Eddie cried out. His attempts to free his leg went in vain, so he switched up strategies and tried digging his fingers into Richie’s sides to return the torment. 

“Do we need to separate you two?!” Bill yelled from the corner of the room, working on setting up a projector for Bev’s presentation. 

So they had calmed things back down, but kept poking at one another or elbowing each other at random intervals for the remainder of the meeting. 

Every time Richie was close to him, Eddie felt like his body started vibrating. Every time they made contact he felt fire burning under his skin. 

But he had promised Richie that he would wait. So he did. One month, to prove that he was clear-minded enough to decide what happened next. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

_One full month later…_

The ‘taped hands cooking challenge’ had been an excellent idea in theory, with absolutely disastrous results. 

Richie had picked up the idea from looking at some other popular videos. He had realized that the concept of taping up one's hands so you can’t open them was a low budget, hilarious concept, that had never been done in a kitchen. 

So Eddie and Richie went head to head, trying to cook a simple dish with their hands taped up. 

Again. Great concept. It made for excellent video content and was sure to be a hit online. Unfortunately, one of the pitfalls of not being able to hold spoons or bowls was spilling your ingredients everywhere. Constantly. 

The kitchen was a horrible mess by the time they were finished. Food everywhere. It covered the counters, the floor, and some major portions of both Richie and Eddie. 

They had anticipated some of the mess, so had decided to only start filming after everyone else went home for the day. It was now late into the night, and they were the only ones left to witness the destruction and havoc of their experiment. 

After they finished filming, and had the camera safely packed away, Mike took a good hard look at the rest of the work they had to do. 

“Are we going to need a second mop bucket for this? Damn,” he said. 

“Hey uh… you don’t have to stick around and help clean, if you don’t want to,” Eddie said, leaning his hip casually against one of the counters. “I mean, it’s late. Me and Richie could probably take care of this on our own. It’s our mess, after all.” 

“Huh?” Richie asked, staring at Eddie. “... Oh. Right. Uh, sure. Yeah. All right. You guys go home, we got this.” 

“Are you sure?” Bill asked, eyeing the room again. “It seems like a lot…” 

“They’re sure,” Mike said, giving Bill a firm pat on the shoulder, before taking hold of it and starting to direct him out of the room. 

“We’ll be fine! I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” Eddie insisted, sending them off with a wave. 

“Drive safe!” Mike called back, before the door shut behind him and Bill. 

The moment the two of them were out the door, they turned to one another. 

“... Mike. Please tell me they’re not about to have sex in the kitchen.” 

“They are not about to have sex in the kitchen.” 

“But they _are_ ,” Bill said, raking his hands over his face. “Eddie has been aggressively hitting on Richie all night. Did you hear what he was saying? ‘ _You look like you pack a pretty good sausage_ ’?? Seriously?” 

“And Richie didn’t look like he minded it at all, yeah,” Mike agreed. “But this is a force of nature too powerful for us to stop. We have to let it take its course.” 

“Sure, but. In the kitchen??” 

Mike shrugged. 

“I guess. But knowing Eddie, at least he’ll clean up after. We’ll never know if they did or not.” 

“Oh god, that’s worse,” Bill said, walking with Mike as they left the building together. “Then it’s like… schrodinger’s box. They will have both fucked, and not fucked in the kitchen. Schrodinger’s jizz counter.” 

Mike let out a loud laugh, clapping his hand down on Bill’s shoulder. 

“That’s the price of friendship, Bill. Paradoxical jizz-counters.” 

\- - - - - - 

To Eddie and Richie’s credit, they did get through most of the cleaning without interruption. 

They spoke as they worked, but it was typical of their usual jargon. Some playful insults thrown back and forth, a few crude jokes, the occasional tangent. 

They shuffled past each other more than once, always gently brushing against one another in the process. Their sides pressed into one another when they started cleaning the counters. And every time they parted ways, it took a bit more time and effort to peel themselves away. 

Eventually, the floors and counters were cleaned up. All that remained was washing the dishes they had used. They started by collecting the pots and tools from the edge of the counters, so they could place them in the sink. 

Most of it was transferred into soapy water. Only a few tools remained back on the counter. 

Both of them had been moving mechanically while they worked, picking up whatever they saw out of the corner of their eye. 

Neither of them noticed they had reached for the same spoon until Eddie’s fingers clamped down on top of Richie’s hand. 

They both paused, and looked down at the spoon to see what happened. 

Eddie didn’t move his hand. He kept it where it was, and turned his head to look up at Richie. He waited until Richie was looking back at him, before he spoke up. 

“Hey, so… it’s been a month,” he said. 

Richie swallowed thickly. 

“... You’re still thinking about that?” he asked. 

“Everyday,” Eddie said firmly. “I want to know. Are you interested in me?”

Moment of truth. Now or never. Richie swallowed again, hoping his hands weren’t shaking. 

“Ah… yuh,” answered Richie, cranking out the closest word he could get to the English language. 

“Good,” said Eddie. 

Eddie didn’t need to move far. Richie was hunched down, close to his eye level. So he leaned forward and up just enough, and pressed his lips against Richie’s. 

The first kiss was very chaste. Gentle and sweet. Only still contact between their mouths, frozen in the moment. 

Then Eddie pulled away, ever so slightly. Just enough so he could speak, whispering against Richie’s lips. 

“I liked that…” he said, opening his eyes halfway. “That was nice.” 

“Can we do it again?” asked Richie, trying not to sound desperate and failing miserably at it. 

Instead of answering, Eddie moved forward and kissed him again. Just another small press of their lips together, but followed quickly by another one. And another. And another. 

Richie started out rigid, but gently eased into the sensation of it. 

They were alone. Everyone else had gone home for the night. There was no chance of them getting caught doing this, and Richie was slowly but surely losing his ability to give a fuck about any of it. 

He finally let himself kiss Eddie back, closing his eyes and wrapping his free arm around Eddie’s waist. 

Eddie gladly returned the gesture, sliding his hand away from Richie’s on the table so he could hold onto both of Richie’s shoulders. 

Then, instead of just pressing softly, their lips moved against one another. Slowly at first, as they tested the waters. But Eddie was making too many soft noises of approval, and Richie was pulling Eddie too close, and soon they both became swept away by the tide. 

A few gentle kisses had morphed into something far more passionate. They clung to one another, asserting as much pressure and contact between their bodies as they could. Instead of parting ways for air they breathed into one another when they had no, desperate to stay connected for as long as possible. 

At one point their mouths both opened at the same time, teeth clacking together clumsily. Despite the lack of grace, it still allowed their tongues to brush against one another for only a moment. It was all the invitation they needed to deepen the kiss. 

And thus, the kiss morphed again. The passion continued, but added to it now was a raw hunger. This was no longer a desire, but a need. 

Richie could have stayed doing only that forever. He felt close to stoned off of the sensation, foggy-headed with a warm comfortable feeling flowing throughout his body. It was like being drunk, and high, and asleep all at the same time. But without any of the negative repercussions, and the consciousness to remember all of it later. 

Eddie, apparently, had loftier ambitions. 

“Put me … up… on the counter,” Eddie said, peppered in between kisses. 

Richie didn’t catch what he said. So he gave a hum of approval, hoping that would suffice as a generic answer to whatever Eddie had said, and kept kissing him. 

Eddie obliged him for a short amount of time, before he tried again. This time breaking the kiss entirely, so Richie would be less distracted. 

“Help me up onto the edge of the counter,” he said again, already pulling Richie by his shirt closer to the workspace behind them. 

Richie didn’t need to be asked thrice. 

“Oh. Yeah… okay,” he said. 

Eddie put his hands on the edge of the counter for balance, while Richie held onto his hips and hoisted him upwards. 

The moment Eddie was settled, sitting on the very edge of the counter with Richie directly in front of him, his legs wrapped tightly around Richie’s torso. Now with a slight height advantage on Richie, he tilted his head down and kissed him again. 

Richie’s hand went to Eddie’s back first, firmly pressed into him until he slowly traveled down his spine, until his hands were over Eddie’s ass. 

Eddie let out a grateful moan of approval into Richie’s mouth, so he kept his hands there. 

And by god, Richie could feel Eddie’s dick through his pants. Pressing into Richie’s upper stomach. As hard and present as Richie had been from the moment Eddie started chanting a whispered ‘yes’ over and over again against Richie’s lips. 

Richie tried to think about what he should do next, as Eddie’s hands cupped the back of Richie’s head, curling into his hair and pulling their heads together as close as possible. 

The first thing that Richie noticed was that Eddie was grinding his hips into him. Slowly pushing them forward, pulling in with his legs at the same time for the maximum amount of friction possible. 

His first thought was that he wanted to give Eddie anything he wanted. Everything he deserved. So Richie dug his hands into the fabric over Eddie’s ass, parting their lips only so he could kiss and bite his way down the side of Eddie’s neck. Searching carefully for all his most sensitive spots, and teasing them with his teeth and tongue until he got the desired reaction out of his partner. 

Richie had a vague plan in his head, as he let go of Eddie with one hand to start unbuttoning his shirt. 

He’d kiss down Eddie’s neck, taking his time. Milking every gasp and moan from him as he could before slowly making his way down to Eddie’s chest. He’d keep going as far as Eddie wanted to. Perhaps lay him down on top of the counter, kissing down those perfect, beautiful ab muscles, slowly unzipping him-- 

Richie made it as far as Eddie’s third shirt button before a few important facts crashed through the impossible haze of his unbearably horny thought process. 

Richie cursed against Eddie’s collarbone. 

Eddie wasn’t able to catch the pause. He continued pressing his hips forward into Richie rhythmically, letting out tiny pants of pleasure each time. 

“Eddie, hey,” Richie said, voice still deep with lust as he lifted his head to speak next to Eddie’s ear. 

“Richie…” Eddie breathed out, wrapping his arms fully around his shoulders again. 

The way he said that sounded like music to Richie. He couldn’t help but smile, burying his face back into Eddie’s neck. “... you’re so fucking cute.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So… why aren’t you kissing me?” Eddie asked, lightly rubbing his fingers against the fine hairs at the back of Richie’s neck. 

Richie groaned, before responding. 

“Because you seem like you’re interested in a bit more than kissing, right now.” 

“Yeah? And?”

“ _And_ , we’re technically at work right now. Or literally. Doesn’t matter. Point is, this isn’t an ideal place to continue if you want to keep going with this,” Richie explained. 

Eddie paused, arguing with himself for a few moments. About 90 percent of his current energy was on board with telling Richie that he didn’t care. Surely no one would ever know if they got each other off in the test kitchen. They wouldn’t leave any evidence of it. 

But just enough of a portion of Eddie’s coherent thoughts leaked through, and realized that Richie was right. They were in a shared workspace. Doing anything exceedingly intimate within that place was disrespectful to their coworkers. 

Eddie started to feel guilty. Concerned that Richie was about to tell him that they should go their separate ways for the night, and try again at a more appropriate time. 

Instead, Richie reached around into his own back pocket, and pulled out his phone. 

“I’ll get us a cab back to my place,” he said, already pulling up the appropriate app, looking over Eddie’s shoulder as he typed. 

“... oh. So you still want to… _do it_?” 

Richie couldn’t help but laugh in response to that. He had heard other grown men refer to sex as ‘doing it’ before, but never with the raw sincerity that Eddie had. There was something precious about it, unbearably, unmistakably cute. 

“Yeah. I want to do it. Do you?” Richie asked. 

Eddie nodded immediately. 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Lucas will be here in nine minutes with our VIP red Toyota sedan.” 

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed, clapping his hands down on Richie’s sides as he suddenly recalled something. “Wait, cancel the ride. I have my car parked here, it’ll be easier if I drive us back to my place.” 

“You sure? I don’t mind paying for your trip back here to pick up your car tomorrow,” Richie offered. 

“Yeah. I already have everything we need. Besides, Bill and Mike always come in early. They’ll notice if I get a cab here and pick up my car,” said Eddie. 

“Smart thinking,” Richie said, cancelling the uber ride. Once his phone was back in his pocket, he finally parted ways from Eddie. He took a step back away from the counter, fixing his glasses to correct the way they had shifted during his recent activities. 

“Sooo… you have everything we need at your place, huh?” Richie asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Sort of sounds like you were planning for this to happen.” 

Eddie’s face turned bright red immediately, closing his spread legs and hopping down from the counter-top back onto the floor. 

“I wasn’t! I thought there was a chance this could happen and I wanted to be prepared,” said Eddie, already moving off in the direction of their work lockers to collect their personal belongings before locking up for the night. 

“My word. Edward Kasprak, have you been trying to _seduce_ me?” 

“Well if I was it worked so I don’t even know why you’re making fun of me for it!” 

They collected their coats and keys, and left the building, leaving behind a sink-load of unwashed dishes, and one flour spill they had missed while cleaning the floors of the kitchen. 

\- - - - - - 

Despite the heated affair they had only recently shared, their trip back to Eddie’s apartment seemed almost normal. 

Eddie still scoffed and shouted at other cars in traffic that didn’t obey traffic laws, while Richie played around with the radio, trying to find anything worth listening to before giving up and connecting his phone to Eddie’s Bluetooth stereo. 

There was one important difference. 

This time, about halfway to their destination, Eddie let go of the steering wheel with one of his hands. 

He reached aside, and put his hand down on top of Richie’s leg. He didn’t take his eyes off of the road, but the gesture was deliberate, with a clear intention. 

Richie looked at it for a few moments, somehow still shell shocked by its presence even after all they had been through. 

‘ _It’s ok_ ,’ a very small voice in his head assured him. ‘ _You can do this._ ’ 

Richie put his hand down on top of Eddie’s, curling his fingers around it. 

\- - - - - - 

They were totally silent by the time they pulled into the garage of Eddie’s apartment complex, and Richie was starting to get concerned again. 

He knew they made the right call by stopping things when they had. The only problem with making the responsible decision was now their momentum was thrown off, and Richie had no idea how he was going to ease back into setting the mood. 

He couldn’t just jump Eddie’s bones all of a sudden. So he considered his alternative options. Asking if Eddie had any drinks around? No, that had too much of a one-night-stand energy to it. Offer to give Eddie a back rub? Also bad. Way too intimate, huge chance of backfiring. 

Richie tried desperately to figure something out during the elevator ride up to Eddie’s apartment. 

Eddie didn’t say a word. He focused on the numbers at the top of the elevator as they shifted through floors, lightly tapping his fingers on his arms as he waited. 

Richie hadn’t settled on a final idea when the elevator doors opened. He walked down the hallway a few steps behind Eddie, racking his brain for an idea. Any idea of what to do. 

Richie waited while Eddie unlocked the front door, moving into the apartment after Eddie held the door open for him to enter. 

“So uh… nice place you got here,” Richie said, as if he hadn’t been over to Eddie’s apartment before (he had). But it was the only thing he could think of saying. “Don’t suppose you have anything to drink around h-” 

Eddie cut him off by grabbing Richie, pushing him up against the now closed and locked front door, and kissed him again. 

Well. That was one way to solve a problem. 

Richie graciously returned the gesture, holding onto Eddie’s hips as they picked up exactly where they left off. Richie had calmed down and softened somewhat during their trip, surprised to feel as Eddie pushed his hips forward into Richie that the other man had either remained rock solid, or had immediately sprung back to full hardness in the span of a few moments. 

Richie groaned, cursing under his breath as his groin worked overtime to catch back up. 

Eddie, always a solid step ahead of the game, multi-tasked. He kissed into Richie’s mouth, slid a leg between Richie’s so they could have optimal contact between their lower halves, and pushed Richie’s jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it aside onto the floor. Eddie made quick work of his own jacket after, also leaving it abandoned by the front door. 

Richie tugged at the fabric on Eddie’s back, untucking his shirt so he could slide his hand up along the skin of his lower back, relishing in the sigh of pleasure he pulled from Eddie as he did so. He rubbed at the small of his back lightly with his fingers, and smiled when that caused Eddie to buck his hips firmly against Richie. 

“Where do we… we need to… get to the closest horizontal surface,” Richie said between kisses. 

“My bedroom’s down the hall,” Eddie muttered as he got to work on unbuttoning Richie’s shirt. 

“You think you’re going to make it that far?” Richie asked, and slid his fingers just under the hem of the back of Eddie’s pants. 

“Oh, sure. Let me just get out the lube and condoms I keep next to the coat rack,” Eddie said, and grumbled as he forced himself to pull away from Richie. Instead of losing contact completely he took hold of one of Richie’s hands, and started to tug him off down the hallway to the bedroom. 

It took them a while to get there, taking frequent stops to kiss one another again, or to remove an article of clothing. 

By the time they made it to Eddie’s room they were both down to just their underwear. 

“Get on the bed,” Eddie commanded, accentuating the point with a soft bite to the side of Richie’s neck. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Richie nodded, releasing Eddie so he could speed-walk over to the bed and take a seat on it, legs dangling off of the side. 

Instead of joining him right away, Eddie made his way over to the side-table next to the bed. He opened a drawer, dug around in it for a moment, before throwing a box of condoms and a bottle of lube onto the bed. 

Richie looked aside, reaching out to pick up the box and see what sort of brand he was working with, but Eddie was back on him before his fingers could even brush the surface. 

Eddie straddled Richie’s lap, pushing him back by the shoulders until Richie was lying back on his elbows. 

“Holy shit… Eds, you’re going to kill m- Oh God,” Richie started to say, cut off by Eddie’s next action. 

Eddie had lined up his hips, so their dicks were pressed against one another through the fabric of their underpants. Then he started to grind his hips down in a slow back and forth motion. He had a look of blissful relief on his face, both hands placed onto Richie’s chest for support, and gently smoothed his thumbs over the thick chest hair there. His eyes were half lidded, gaze locked onto Richie’s mouth. 

‘ _Well. If I’m about to die, it’s a damn good way to go_ ,’ Richie thought to himself. He looked down to where their pelvises connected, cursing again at the sight of Eddie’s dick straining against the fabric of his boxer-briefs. He saved the mental image for a later date, before he pushed himself back up into an upright position so he could return the favor. 

Richie curled his fingers around the back of Eddie’s thighs, dragging his fingers over the soft skin there. He went back to kissing Eddie’s neck, down to his shoulder, and moved his fingers under the fabric of Eddie’s underwear until they were pressed into the bare flesh of his ass. 

Eddie grabbed onto the back of Richie’s neck, and tilted his head back as he let out an enthusiastic moan. 

“Yes…. yes, Richie.,” he said. He lifted his hips slightly, hoping to give a clear invitation for Richie to keep going. 

And so he did. Richie moved one of his hands further along, one of his fingers rubbing slow teasing circles around the perimeter of Eddie’s hole as he peppered kisses along his chest and collarbones. Eddie wrapped both of his arms tightly around Richie’s shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of Richie’s head now and he shuddered and softly begged him to keep going. 

Instead of getting right to it, Richie came up with another idea. He kept that going for just a bit longer, working Eddie up, before he pulled his hands away and placed them back on Eddie’s sides, laughing lightly at the indignant sound of disappointment from Eddie that came with it. 

“Hey…” Richie said thickly, having to swallow for a moment to regain use of his voice. “You wanna lie back on the bed for a second? Might be a bit more comfortable for you.” 

“I don’t want to be comfortable, I want your fingers in me,” Eddie grumbled, jerking his hips forward into Richie’s stomach for good measure. 

Richie laughed again, turning his head up so he could kiss Eddie softly. 

“I’ll make it worth your while. Promise.” 

Eddie sighed, but conceded. He slid off of Richie’s lap, and re-positioned himself so he was lying on his back on the bed. 

Richie took a moment to just appreciate what Eddie looked like. Splayed out, pink all over, pupils blown out wider and darker than Richie had ever seen them. His hair was slightly frumpled, messed out of the cleanly gelled style he always wore in it. 

Richie briefly wondered how many people had ever gotten to see Eddie like this. If anyone in the world looked this good when they were having sex. Richie certainly didn’t, he knew he looked more like a caveman trying to figure out how to create fire for the first time. 

Eddie didn’t just look like a porn star. He looked like a renaissance painting. Beautiful, and smooth, and heavenly. He didn’t belong in bed with Richie, he belonged on the walls and ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. And Richie couldn’t stop staring. 

Eddie shifted, slightly self-conscious under Richie’s gaze. 

“... You’re not changing your mind, are you?” he asked, reaching out with a hand so he could put it lightly on Richie’s knee. “I mean. You can, if you want. We don’t have-” 

“God no,” Richie cut in before Eddie could finish the thought, moving himself until he was sitting between Eddie’s legs. “Just… can’t get over how lucky I am right now. Is this really happening?” 

“Not _currently_. You’re just looking at me,” Eddie complained. 

“Oh… right. Yeah,” Richie said, and got to work. 

He started by leaning over so he could kiss Eddie’s mouth again. He didn’t stay there long, making up for lost time by moving at a pace more to Eddie’s liking. He kissed down the front of his throat, down his chest, taking a moment to swirl his tongue around one of Eddie’s nipples and pull a deep sigh of relief from him. 

He traveled down further, kissing over Eddie’s stomach, and stopped just before he reached his groin, sliding his tongue around the sensitive skin just above the hem of his underwear. He listened carefully to the pattern of Eddie’s breathing, waiting for signs that he was doing the right thing by how many times Eddie gasped, or groaned, or hitched his breath. 

He teased Eddie until he was appropriately on edge, before he hooked his fingers under the fabric of his boxer-briefs, and slowly slid them down. 

And then he stopped moving again, mesmerized by the sight of Eddie’s dick in front of him. 

Richie had tried to imagine what it would look like on more than one occasion. Since he had assumed he’d never be acquainted with it in real life, he had pictured every possibility under the sun. Maybe it would be short, but thick. Maybe he’d be bigger than Richie was. In Richie’s mind he was both circumcised and uncut, had a thick bush and was clean shaven, was average and ridiculously gigantic. Because it was an impossible dream. Everything all at once, because it would never really truly exist. 

But it did. And it was there. Directly in front of Richie. It wasn’t a porn-grade slab of meat, but it was anything but average. Absolutely gorgeous. Cut, and pink, and leaking from the slit at the head of his cock because Eddie _wanted_ him. Just for Richie. 

It was better than any gift Richie had received in his life. 

“Richie…” Eddie groaned out impatiently, glaring down at him with half-lidded eyes in a way that sent Richie’s stomach flipping all over again. 

“I’ve got you, Eds,” Richie promised. And so he did. 

He leaned back down, and started by pressing a messy kiss to the base of Eddie’s cock. Eddie encouraged him with a shuddering sigh, followed quickly by a sharp inhale as Richie ran his thumb up the underside of Eddie’s shaft. 

As Richie continued, he worked slowly. Moving up Eddie one centimeter at a time, running his tongue and fingers over every vein and curve of him. It was a sweet, slow torment, but he made sure to make it enjoyable. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t take it too fast because he was enthralled by the experience of pulling Eddie apart slowly. Watching Eddie from the corner of his eye as his expressions shifted from one blissful moment to the next. 

Eddie had started off quietly, but was getting louder with every passing second. He reached up with one hand, placing it over his mouth to try to muffle himself, but Richie reached up and gently pulled Eddie’s wrist away. Richie wanted to hear everything Eddie had to say, even if it was garbled nonsense. 

So Eddie responded by grabbing onto Richie’s hand and clutched it firmly. 

Richie finally got up to the tip, kissing the head once before sliding his tongue along the slit to collect the pre-cum there. Eddie gasped loudly, then clamped his teeth down to stifle a moan, turning it into a high-pitched whine. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Richie said, the words tumbling out of his mouth impulsively. “I wish you could see yourself right now… you’re… fuck. Amazing.” 

“Sure, ok,” Eddie replied, only half listening. 

Richie smiled, enjoying the fact that Eddie was too out of it to cut back with a snippy comment. It meant he had done a good job building him up. Instead of making him wait longer, Richie decided to finally give Eddie what he wanted. 

He quickly found the bottle of lubricant. He let go of Eddie’s hand for a moment to pour some onto his fingers, before rejoining their hands together and moving his free hand down to Eddie’s ass. He started with Eddie by slowly rubbing around his hole, gently massaging the entrance, before he wrapped his lips around Eddie and started to suck him off. 

He slowly worked Eddie open as he sucked, one knuckle at a time, and kept his eyes up on Eddie so he could see every twitch across his brow, the red hot heat flash across his cheeks, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to work out the words to describe how good he felt but unable to articulate anything besides moans of pleasure and desperate gasps. 

Eddie ended up hooking one of his legs over Richie’s shoulders, his free hand gripped tightly onto the sheets under them. With each bob of Richie’s head he gasped again, shuddered, until his body became a sensation of melting putty under Richie’s hands and around his fingers. 

“Yes.. Yes, god- Rich…. Yes,” he chanted, trying to open his eyes but unable to focus on anything he was seeing. 

Richie could sense when Eddie was close to coming. From the way he pushed his hips up desperately into Richie’s mouth, the quiver of his thighs, the tightness in his balls, the unhinged gasps and moans that started to tumble out of Eddie. 

Richie knew in the back of his mind that it would be a shame to end things now. He wanted to go on forever, keeping Eddie crying out for more until the sun came up and reminded them that they had other responsibilities in the world besides pleasuring one another. But he also couldn’t find it in himself to stop. He couldn’t deny Eddie, couldn’t tell him to stop because Richie wanted more. 

So Richie curled his fingers into Eddie, and sucked down as hard as he could without causing Eddie any pain, groaning delightfully for the extra buzz of vibration that sent him over the edge. 

Eddie cried out, gripping Richie’s hand for dear life, shaking as he came in his mouth. 

Richie swallowed all of it graciously, kept his head moving up and down slowly as Eddie rode through that orgasm, milking every last drop of pleasure out of the experience until Eddie was limp and panting under him again. 

Finally satisfied that he had done a thorough job on Eddie, Richie removed his mouth from Eddie’s dick. He kissed the softening flesh a few more times, nuzzled the space between Eddie’s groin and thigh, and whispered soft encouragements about how beautiful Eddie was. How good of a job he had done, how thankful Richie was for the experience. 

His own cock was practically screaming for relief, but Richie didn’t get to it right away. He stayed focused on Eddie, kissed him anywhere he could, until the other man’s breathing had slowed down and he settled back onto the bed comfortably. 

Richie wasn’t a picky man. He took whatever he could get, and what he was getting now was more than enough. So when it came time to move on and take care of himself, all he had to do was sit up between Eddie’s legs, pull his dick free from his boxers, and start pumping while he looked down at the image in front of him. 

The original idea had been to get off quickly, catch whatever semen came out into his hand so it didn’t get all over Eddie’s stomach, and dispose of it so they could get right into the after-glow cuddling. 

But Eddie seemed to catch onto that, removing his arm from where it had been on his forehead so he could properly look up at Richie with a slight frown. 

“... what are you doing?” Eddie asked, voice still thick and deep with lust. 

Richie’s hand stopped, eyes widening a bit as he swallowed. 

“I uh… I’m finishing,” Richie said. 

“Don’t,” said Eddie, lifting his foot so he could push Richie’s hand off of his dick. 

Richie whimpered, holding onto Eddie’s ankle after. 

“Please don’t say you’re into orgasm denial. I mean. If you are … uh. I can work with that. But… I’ll be real with you, man, I don’t think I can keep this up much longer-” 

Eddie shook his head, reaching off to the side so he could collect the box of condoms and pull one out. 

“No. I want you to fuck me, idiot,” Eddie explained. 

Richie was caught between a moment of confusion and a powerful surge of desire that went right to his dick when Eddie said that. 

“... really?” he asked, mouth agape as he watched Eddie hoist himself up, removing his foot from Richie’s hold so he could start taking the condom out. “We don’t have to- are you sure? You just. You know.” 

Eddie leaned up to kiss Richie, licking lewdly into his mouth as he took hold of Richie’s cock and started to roll the condom on him. 

“It’s fine. I’ll get it back… or I won’t. Doesn’t matter,” Eddie said between kisses. He started to smile again when he got Richie to start moaning, experimentally sliding his grip over Richie’s shaft. “I want you inside me. _Now_.” 

“Jesus Christ, Eds…” moaned Richie. He kissed Eddie back, hands travelling back to his ass so he could massage the muscle there gently and get Eddie to moan with him. “How do you want this? On your back? Side? Anything you want, Eddie… anything..” 

Eddie hummed thoughtfully against Richie’s lips, before he forced himself to move away. He turned himself, laying his face and chest back down on the surface of the bed, knees bent so his ass was up in the air at an angle where Richie could get to it. 

Richie’s hands snapped to Eddie’s hips right away. He positioned himself, lined up with Eddie’s hips, and held the position while he went back for the bottle of lube so he could coat himself properly. 

It pained him, but he held off for a while longer. He coated his fingers with another generous portion, working his knuckles back into Eddie’s hole to ease him up as much as possible. 

“... how are you feeling? Is this okay?” he asked softly, scissoring and stretching Eddie out. 

Eddie groaned and buried his face into the sheets. 

“It’s fine… fuck… just… go in already, it’s fine,” Eddie insisted. 

“I’ll take it slow, ok? Just… let me know if I need to stop,” said Richie. They were already so far, but Richie’s hands still shook with nervous energy as they pulled out of Eddie, and he pressed the head of his dick against Eddie’s entrance. 

Eddie was about to fire a retort back, but the words died in his throat as Richie pushed the head of his cock into Eddie. 

It was definitely a bit wider of a stretch than Eddie expected. He gasped, and screwed his eyes shut as he tried to adjust to the new sensation. 

Richie stopped moving immediately, bending over Eddie so he could kiss his back gently. Richie reached under Eddie, first to lightly ghost his hands over his stomach, then reaching down to his semi-soft cock and stroking him slowly. 

“It’s ok… relax. You’re doing great…” Richie whispered, tickling Eddie’s back with his chest hair and beard stubble. “I’ve got you… I’ve got you…” 

“It’s… a lot…” Eddie said back to him. 

“I know. You’re doing great,” Richie repeated, with another kiss to the back of his neck. “Any time you want me to start moving, let me know.” 

It didn’t take Eddie long, more through sheer will-power than anything else. But he finally became settled again, and pushed his hips back against Richie, pushing him in a bit further. Eddie groaned in time with Richie, pleased to see that the most difficult part of it was already over. 

“Ok… ok, you can go…” Eddie said finally, by the time he had accepted most of Richie’s length inside of him. 

“Yeah?” Richie asked, unsure of himself. 

Eddie responded by pushing his hips back once more, taking Richie in fully. Richie cursed against the skin of Eddie’s back, and his fingers gripped into Eddie’s hip. 

So Richie obliged Eddie by starting to move on his own. He slid out halfway, slowly, before moving his hips back forward again. Richie kept his hand on Eddie’s member, still stroking until he could feel him getting fully hard again, then placed both of his hands on his hips to keep them in place as he started to pick up the pace. 

Richie hadn’t even found that sweet spot inside of him before Eddie’s mind was gone from the mortal realm. Just the sensation of Richie inside of him, tearing him open, pushing into places that he had never had touched before was something far beyond anything Eddie could have dreamed. He didn’t need logic, or coherent thoughts, or words. Just the white-hot fire swirling around deep in his stomach, the stars in front of his eyes, and Richie’s name tumbling out of his mouth with every thrust. 

He hoped that Richie was enjoying it just as much, had a passing regret that he hadn’t asked to do this facing each other so he could see Richie’s reaction to it. But he could still hear him. Grunting, moaning, telling Eddie that he was so beautiful. So precious. So unbelievably perfect in every way. 

Then Richie brushed up against something inside of him that made Eddie snap his head back, crying out with pleasure. With no need for instruction, Richie focused on that spot. He angled fast and deep thrusts into it, until every breath Eddie took out was nothing but loud moans. 

Richie was thrusting into Eddie hard enough to start moving him up the bed, so Eddie reached out with one hand, bracing himself against the headboard so he didn’t slide away. He pushed his hips back into it, seeking out every ounce of force and pressure. 

Much to Eddie’s dismay, Richie slowed down for a moment. 

“Eddie…” he wheezed out, hands shaking. “Eddie I’m.. I’m about to.. Can I…” 

Truthfully, Eddie didn’t want to let Richie come. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to keep Richie inside of him, switch up positions, ride him until both of their bodies couldn’t physically handle moving anymore. But Richie had already given Eddie so much, he had earned it. 

So Eddie nodded, swallowing so he could clear up his throat to speak. 

“Do it,” he said, firmly. 

Richie groaned, fucking into Eddie with quick hard thrusts for another few moments. He leaned down over Eddie again, kissed the side of his neck, moaning against it as he came inside of Eddie. 

Eddie still hadn’t come again, but he felt an instant sensation of relief when he knew Richie had. He could feel Richie’s chest moving against his back, feel his hot labored breaths on his neck. 

Richie didn’t pull out of him at first. As weary as he was, he moved his hips a few more times, pulling another set of soft moans out of Eddie. Even as he started to soften he stayed inside, pushing himself back up onto his shaky knees, so he could reach under Eddie and stroke him. Until Eddie was on the edge of collapse all over again, until he muffled a moan into the pillows and spilled out onto the sheets under them. 

Only then did Richie pull out, carefully moving himself so he wouldn’t flop down directly on top of Eddie, and crashed into the sheets next to him on his back. 

Eddie immediately moved himself so he was laid out half on top of Richie. He hooked one leg over Richie’s, rested his head on Richie’s shoulder, and closed his eyes. Richie snuck an arm under Eddie so he could wrap it around him, gently stroking up and down his back as Eddie moved his fingertips over Richie’s chest hair. 

Richie kissed Eddie’s head a few times, smiling into the sweat there, which brought a smile to Eddie’s face as well. 

“... finally,” Eddie said after a few minutes of blissful silence. “I seriously would have exploded or something if we had gone another day without that…” 

“You okay?” Richie asked softly. 

Eddie nodded, turning his head slightly so he could press a gentle kiss against Richie’s shoulder. 

“Better than okay. Fan-fucking-tastic,” said Eddie. 

Richie chuckled at that, starting to play with the hair at the back of Eddie’s neck. 

“Alright. So now that we’ve established that…. _What_ was that?” Richie asked. 

“It’s called sex. You should try it some time,” Eddie replied. 

“No seriously,” Richie responded, coherent thoughts starting to come back to him. “I knew you were an energetic guy but… _fuck_ , dude. You just turned into, like, a sex panther. I’ve seen porn stars with less gusto than that. You sure you’ve never done that before?” 

“I’ve had sex before, asshole,” Eddie said, too exhausted to add as much bite into those words as he intended. 

“Not like that you haven’t. Unless there’s something you haven’t been telling me about your ex-wife.” 

Eddie groaned, painfully this time instead of with pleasure. 

“Can we please not talk about my ex-wife right now. I’d like to enjoy this,” said Eddie. 

“Right. Sorry,” said Richie, pressing an apologetic kiss to Eddie’s head again. “... seriously, though. That was… that was great. Thanks.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted that just as much as you did,” said Eddie, the smile returning to his face. He hesitated for a moment, before he nervously added “... we could do that again, some time. If you’re up for it.” 

“I’m going to be up for this 24/7. I’m not even kidding. I am about to go into perma-boner mode for the rest of my life,” Richie said immediately. “Just say the word and my dick is yours. We’re talking unlimited summons.” 

Eddie laughed lightly at that. 

“How can you say the stupidest shit and make it sound so sweet?” he asked, before one of his legs slid a bit, into the small puddle of semen he had left on the bed. 

Eddie made a face, finally realizing that the one drawback to sex meant laying around in a puddle of your own filth. So he sat up, and pulled away from Richie so he could make his way over to the side of the bed. 

Richie frowned, half-sitting up himself. He looked lost all of a sudden, nervous and hesitant. 

“What’s going on?” he asked Richie, carefully. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Eddie told him, looking around the room to try to find where his underwear had gone to. 

“Oh…” said Richie, sitting up all the way now, nervously trying to fix his glasses on his face. “... Do you want me to get out?” 

“What?” 

“Yeah I mean, it’s late. I could get a ride back to my place.” 

Eddie stopped his hunt for his underwear so he could look back at Richie. It took him a few moments to think through his response to that, recalling all of the information he knew about Richie. 

“... If you want to? But you’re more than welcome to stay the night,” said Eddie. He found his underwear out of the corner of his eye, exclaiming a soft ‘oh!’ as he crossed the room to pick them up and put them back on. “If you’re worried about raising suspicions at work tomorrow, you can take a cab and leave an hour after I head out. I’ll give you a key so you can lock up.” 

Richie didn’t even register the last part of that sentence. All he heard was Eddie offering him the chance to stay in his bed with him before his thought process imploded. 

And the best he could do was nod, and say “yeah, ok.” 

“Good,” said Eddie, satisfied with that answer. He couldn’t help but cross back over to the side of the bed, so he could kiss Richie’s cheek. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” 

And Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie, pulling him in closer to Richie could give him a proper kiss on the lips. 

“Where you going?” Richie asked. 

Eddie laughed lightly, placing his hands on Richie’s shoulders. 

“I just told you. I’m going to the bathroom,” he repeated. 

“I’ll go with you.” 

“That’s very sweet of you, but it’s fine. I’m just grabbing towels. Besides, I’m... “ Eddie started to explain, before trailing off awkwardly. It took him a few moments to find the resolve to finish that sentence. “I actually need to _use_ the restroom.” 

“Oh,” Richie said, as soon as he caught up with Eddie’s implication. “That’s fine. I need to pee too, we’ll trade off.” 

Eddie had to let go of one of Richie’s shoulders, to rub at the bridge of his nose. 

As madly in love with the man in front of him as he was, some things could not be tolerated. 

“... Richie. You… you can’t just stand around in the same room with someone while they relieve themselves. I’ll let you know when I’m done, then you can go in.” 

“Dude, I literally just had my dick inside of you.” 

“That’s different! That was sentimental! This is a bodily function, it has nothing to do with sex or romance.” 

Eddie didn’t have to be close up to notice the tell-tale smirk on Richie’s face the moment it appeared. He’d know that look anywhere, and he didn’t trust it for a second. 

“Stop. I know what’s about to happen. I have a very high opinion of you right now, do not blow this.” 

Richie did try. For an honest-to-god two seconds, he considered not delivering his next line in order to appease Eddie and live up to his romantic expectations. 

But some lines were too funny to not be delivered. 

“... have you ever heard of watersports?” 

Eddie’s mission for the bathroom was immediately abandoned, replaced by his newest important task: trying to smother Richie with one of the pillows on the bed. 

\- - - - - - 

Early the next morning, Mike and Bill showed up at work. 

The first thing they checked was the kitchen, discovering the abandoned mess of unwashed dishes that remained behind. 

Mike turned to Bill, and said “... Well. At least we know they didn’t have sex _here_.” 

Bill sighed. 


	10. After Dinner Cocktails part 1: Fireball Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie are finally together, getting closer with each and every passing day. 
> 
> But what does that mean for their future? 
> 
> They decide to do their stupidest challenge yet, to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO a bit of a author's note here, I've been planning out the ending video of this for a while. In the mean time, there has been another fic that came out with a Hot Ones inspired video in it! (yes if you're reading this before reading the fic Eddie and Richie are about to Die Via Spicy Wings). I purposefully avoided reading the fic as I was writing this to make sure no accidental crossover happened, but now that im all done here I read the fic! I highly recommend you check out DeadandDying's hot ones fic! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254045 It is VERY amusing and really nails Richie's voice. 
> 
> AND NOW ONTO THE EPIC CONCLUSION OF TWO IDIOTS WHO CAN BOTH COOK FOOD AND MADE STUPID VIDEOS!

_ 7 months later _

The sun was just starting to set, when Richie made it back to Eddie’s apartment. 

The two of them didn’t live together. Not really. Richie had bought his own apartment in the South End, but more often than not he went back to Eddie’s at the end of the day. The only things that stayed at Richie’s were a few items that were too big to move into a shared living space. Even most of Richie’s wardrobe had found its way into one half of Eddie’s closet, separated down the middle into one section of cleanly pressed suits and one section of quirky patterned chaos. 

Eddie had never raised a complaint about it. He liked it. He was the one who told Richie to start hanging his shirts in the closet instead of leaving them in his overnight bag. He was the one who started ironing the shirts when Richie was out of the house, carefully putting them back up organized by color. 

Even during the quietest parts of the day, the apartment was filled with Richie’s presence. There was the soft trickling of water from a bamboo fountain Richie had purchased for Eddie because he thought it looked ‘cool’. The electric hum of Richie’s dehydration machine, constantly at work on his fermentation experiments in the corner of the kitchen. A collage of tacky fridge magnets from Newbury Comics with various puns and crude jokes. 

Richie made Eddie’s apartment feel like a home. And one of the best parts of that experience was being genuinely excited about arriving back in the apartment, or welcoming Richie back. 

Richie had gone into the test kitchen on his day off, to discuss his next contract renewal with Bill. Since it was a private meeting, Eddie stayed home, and started to prepare dinner for the two of them. 

Said preparation was put on hold as soon as Eddie heard the front door start to unlock. He grinned, quickly rinsing his hands in the sink before drying them off on his apron. 

“Honey, I’m home!” came Richie’s voice from the front entrance, with a certain hoakey tone to it. 

“Welcome back!” Eddie called back. He exited the kitchen so he could rush to meet Richie. 

He wasn’t surprised by the sight he saw when he turned the corner. Both himself and Richie had come up with the idea. Richie was a notoriously casual business partner, so they agreed it would be hilarious if he showed up to his meeting with Bill in a full suit, complete with briefcase. 

Said briefcase was filled with twizzlers. Richie’s idea. 

He wasn’t surprised, but Eddie’s heart still skipped a bit when he saw the sight of it again. Richie had wanted to pick up the cheapest thing they could find at a second-hand store, but Eddie had insisted that they go to a tailor and get a proper custom suit. And  _ damn _ if it didn’t look good on him. A dark navy blue that brought out the color in his eyes, perfectly placed seams that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders, all wrapped up with a black tie that Eddie had had to tie for him. 

Richie gave Eddie an award-winning smile, and it took every ounce of self-restraint in his body not to swoon at it. 

“So I… hear you called for a financial house visit,” said Richie, using his ‘smooth-talking’ voice that he loved so dearly. 

Eddie laughed lightly, crossing over until he was standing in front of Richie. 

“Oh, yes. My credit score is in  _ shambles _ right now. I can’t even get approved for a car loan,” said Eddie. 

“Then allow me to introduce myself, good sir. The name’s Briefcase. Kinky Briefcase. Sexual accountant,” Richie said, offering a hand towards Eddie for him to shake. 

Eddie laughed again, shaking Richie’s hand, and keeping hold of it after. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Briefcase.” 

“Please. Mr. Briefcase is my father. Just Kinky’s fine,” said Richie with a wink, pulling Eddie’s hand up so he could kiss his knuckles. “I’ve been looking over your financial records. You’re right. It’s all in shambles. But I happened to notice some particularly well-rounded  _ ass _ ets that have caught my attention. And sir, I am fully prepared to anal-yze your tax returns until you are fully satisfied with my results. I’ll stay here all night if I have to.” 

“God, I hate how this is actually doing something for me right now. You’re ridiculous,” said Eddie, laughing even as he pulled Richie down for a kiss. He had meant for it to be a quick peck on the lips, but then Richie wrapped one arm around Eddie’s waist and he found that he didn’t quite want to move away from it. 

So they stayed by the front door for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other. They took their time, lazily exploring each other’s mouths. 

Eddie stopped with a groan when Richie’s hands started to play with the tie on the back of Eddie’s apron. 

“Allright, that’s enough of that. For now. I’m making dinner,” he said, chuckling at Richie’s sound of disappointment. 

“What? You don’t want an appetizer?” Richie asked, switching back to his normal voice. 

“Tempting. But you  _ know _ what happened the last time we tried that,” said Eddie. 

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind ordering delivery again. We’d be supporting local businesses.” 

“I already thawed out the meat, we’re not wasting any food.” 

Richie sighed in defeat, kissing Eddie’s cheek one final time before releasing him from his arms. 

“Fine. Need any help?” 

Welcoming Richie back home was a wonderful experience, but this was Eddie’s absolute favorite part of it all. His whole life, cooking had been a one-way exchange of acts of services. Either he cooked for someone else, cooked for himself, or someone else cooked for him. 

For the first time in his life, he had someone he could cook  _ with _ . Someone he didn’t mind crowding into his space in his kitchen, who took direction well and sometimes added something to the dish that made it even more delicious. And when all the work was done, Eddie would wash pots in the sink, and hand them off to Richie to dry them. 

They made love, and they made dishes. Together, they created things that Eddie could never do on his own. 

“Of course,” said Eddie, not able to stop himself from giving Richie another small kiss. “... go hang your jacket up and meet me in the kitchen,” he added in, already seeing Richie start to shrug off his suit jacket, knowing it was going to end up on the coat rack if he didn’t say something about it. 

“I _ am _ hanging it up,” Richie said, with a slight frown. 

“ _ No _ . Put it in the closet, dipshit. That’s an expensive suit, you actually have to take care of it.” 

“Oh come on. When am I going to wear this thing again?” asked Richie dryly. 

“At least once a month. I fully intend on taking you out to bars in it so I can parade you around and tear it off of you at the end of the night,” Eddie explained, gently patting Richie’s hip. 

“... well at least we’ll get our money’s worth out of it,” Richie agreed. He pressed one final kiss to Eddie’s forehead, ruffled his hair playfully, and finally left so he could hang his suit jacket up properly. 

To Eddie’s delight, Richie didn’t change out of the full suit. He removed his tie, unbuttoned a few of the top buttons on his shirt, and rolled his sleeves up, but the final result was still something that distracted Eddie regularly while the two of them set to work on cooking up dinner. Richie must have known what an effect he was having on Eddie, regularly pausing and casually leaning his hip against the counter, crossing his arms in a way that accentuated the thickness of his forearms while the two of them talked to one another. 

Despite the distraction, and several delays in the process for gestures of affection, they managed to keep mostly on track. 

Richie was peeling potatoes, and Eddie was working on seasoning some lamb chops, when he decided to broach the topic of Richie’s meeting. 

“So… how did it go?” Eddie asked, for the sake of small talk. He already knew there wouldn’t be any problems, business as usual. The only point of the meeting had been to sign all the paperwork that Richie had previously agreed to. 

“Fine,” said Richie casually. “The suit got a laugh out of Bill and Mike. Bev made me take a picture with her. They wouldn’t let me accept my next payment in twizzlers as compensation.” 

“Such a shame,” said Eddie, flipping the lamb chops over so he could season the other side. “Maybe if you wear a tuxedo to the next performance review you can get them to change their mind. We’ve got another half year to prepare your proposal.” 

“... We uh. Actually have a bit longer to think about it,” Richie added. 

Eddie stopped what he was doing, turning to look at Richie. Richie hadn’t turned back to him, laser-focused on his work with the potatoes, leaving Eddie to stare at his back. 

“Longer? Don’t we do those things right before a contract renewal?” Eddie asked. 

“Yeah? But we might have… altered the terms of agreement this time around.” 

“... Oh,” said Eddie, starting to tie the pieces together in his head. “... how long?” 

Richie mumbled something under his breath. 

“I didn’t catch that.” 

“Two years.” 

Eddie’s jaw dropped. 

“Woah. Wait… are you serious?” he asked. 

“Yeah?” Richie replied, collecting a pile of shaved potato skins with his hands so he could relocate it into the trash. “It’s not a big deal. The typical contract is two years, it’s the same one everyone else signs.” 

“Yeah but… it’s  _ you _ . You signed…” Eddie started to say, before he paid closer attention to Richie’s body language. His shoulders were hunched slightly, not really looking anywhere near Eddie’s direction. As per usual, he was trying to make an important development into something a lot less interesting than it actually was. He wanted to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but Eddie knew that the decision was a heavier weight on Richie than he was letting on. 

So Eddie wouldn’t grill him for information. Yet. Instead, he walked across the kitchen until he was standing behind Richie, and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his cheek against Richie’s upper back. 

“I’m really happy to hear that, man,” said Eddie. He smiled and closed his eyes when he felt Richie’s hands gently brush over Eddie’s arms. “... I’m glad you’re sticking around. The test kitchen wouldn’t be the same without you.” 

Richie’s shoulders relaxed finally, and he smiled. 

“Yeah, yeah. My landlord’s going to be  _ thrilled _ . He’s basically getting a free 2k a month for the next couple years for the least used apartment in Southie,” he said. 

Eddie curled his fingers lightly into the fabric of Richie’s shirt over his stomach. 

“... you don’t have to re-sign your lease, you know,” he said quietly. 

“What?” Richie asked, not quite getting the implication. “You want me to invoke squatter’s rights?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“I mean you could just move in with me, dumbass,” he clarified. 

“Oh. … Seriously?” asked Richie, nervous and hesitant. 

“Of course. You basically already live here. I could move around some of the bookshelves so we can fit your arcade cabinet in the living room. If you want,” Eddie offered, careful to give Richie the option to turn him down. 

“... you sure about this? I mean, I know how important it is for you to have your own space,” said Richie, going back to gently grazing his fingertips over Eddie’s hands. 

“Positive. ‘My space’ doesn’t feel right unless you’re in it,” said Eddie. 

Richie figured that a decision like this should have sent him into a frenzied panic. It would have, in the past. He would have started sweating, and started thinking about how things would end up when Eddie inevitably got sick of him and kicked him out onto the street with no back-up options to stay the night. 

But all he could feel was a light fluttering in his chest. A warmth that started from where Eddie’s hands pressed over his stomach, and fizzled all the way up his chest and neck to his face, down to his toes, deep, deep inside of him where he didn’t even know he could feel the physical sensation of an emotion. Part of him that he had considered dead years ago, breathed back into life. 

“... Okay,” Richie said, and nodded slightly. 

“Yeah?” asked Eddie, squeezing Richie a bit tighter. 

“Yeah,” said Richie. He moved himself around in Eddie’s arms so they could face each other, and wrapped his arms back around the other man. “My lease isn’t done for another four months, but I can sublet it until then. Or AirBnb. Whatever.”

“I can help with that, if you want. We’ll have to clean your place up before we post it anywhere. It wouldn’t hurt to add some more furniture to make it look appealing. We’ll have to buy a towel set- oh! And soaps! There’s a bath store in Fenway that sells soaps shaped like crabs and lobsters, I bet visitors would get a kick out of that. Do you have a full set of pots and pans at your apartment? We’ll have to buy a set of mugs-” 

“Dude I have like, 20 mugs,” Richie said, his smile growing the further that Eddie went into his excited planning tirade. 

“You already brought most of them over here. And we’re  _ not _ bringing them back. No one wants to drink their morning coffee out of a mug shaped like boobs,” Eddie said, with a small laugh. 

“Uh, yeah. Because that’s my milk mug. Obviously,” said Richie. 

“God, you are so gross!” said Eddie, laughing louder this time. He leaned up so he could kiss Richie, holding his face in his hands. “I can’t wait to have you as my terrible roommate. … Have you even lived with anyone else before that wasn’t your family?” 

“I went to college, asshole. And I haven’t always been made of money, gotta split rent somehow.”

“What was it like? How many years ago was the last one? Were you friends with them?” Eddie asked. 

“What is this, an interrogation?” Richie asked back, absentmindedly playing with the tie on the back of Eddie’s apron again. “I’m going to have to start charging you for these.” 

“Oh?” said Eddie with a sly smile. He leaned in again, pressing a sweet kiss to Richie’s lips. “What’s the longest you’ve ever lived with someone?” he asked. And then another kiss, before playfully asking “What’s your credit score?” 

Richie happily kissed him back each time, and laughed, before sliding back into his ‘Kinky Briefcase’ smooth talking voice. 

“As your accountant, I have to let you know that the kissing economy is in shambles right now. Kisses are far too common of an occurrence these days, inflation is through the roof. You’d need about a thousand of those to pay for such personal insider information.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘kissing you feels like someone just gave me a billion dollars’?” Eddie asked, and pouted. 

“Like I said, the economy is in shambles. Numbers don’t mean anything anymore.” 

“So, what. You want to trade information? Fact for fact? Take a shot any time you ask a question?” 

“Now  _ there’s _ an idea,” said Richie, back to his normal voice again. 

“No way. That’s way too easy for you, it wouldn’t be a fair match,” Eddie argued. 

“... yeah, good point. We’d have to do shots of paint thinner for it to be an actual challenge,” said Richie.

“Preferably something that  _ wouldn’t  _ kill us. Something like… hot sauce?” 

“Oh, that wouldn’t be fair either.” 

“And why not?”

“You have the sensitive mouth of an infant child. I’d have to start breastfeeding you after the third shot to alleviate your suffering.” 

Eddie scowled, clapping his hands down firmly on top of Richie’s shoulders. 

“Fuck you! I actually really like spicy food! You’re the one who got sick after we went out for Indian food because you ate too much of the phaal curry!” Eddie exclaimed indignantly. 

“Yeah, but I only ate too much because I liked it. You had half a bowl and called it quits.” 

“You actually think you can handle spicier food than I can?” asked Eddie. 

“I don’t think. I know.” 

“Alright. Fine. Let’s do this,” said Eddie. He stayed in Richie’s arms, but pulled his phone out of his pocket so he could immediately start researching hot sauces. “Let’s run the  _ fucking _ gauntlet. Spiciest hot sauces in the world, whoever gets through more of them gets to rub it in the other one’s face and gets gloating rights.” 

Richie opened his mouth to agree and step up to Eddie’s challenge, but paused for a moment as an idea hit him. 

“... You know. This actually wouldn’t be a bad idea for a video.”

\- - - - - 

_ [The following video is one of two final versions made by the editor.  _

_ One version of the video was cut down and released on youtube for public consumption. It omits some of the personal anecdotes and more emotional scenes, focused more heavily on the hot sauces and their impact on the members of the video. _

_ This version is a slightly extended ‘director’s cut’, made only for the eyes of the members of the Loser Test Kitchen.]  _

**Hot Wings Challenge**

Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen

Description: Richie Tozier and Eddie Kasprak are back at their feud again, here to settle a new burning question. Who is the true lord of spicy food? Will they be able to step up to the challenge? Can they handle the heat? 

[Opening scene. Eddie and Richie are sitting across from one another at a small table. In front of each of them is a rectangular plate, with 8 chicken wings on it. There are also 8 small bottles of sauces, lined up directly in between them. Both of them eye the wings and sauces in front of them.] 

RICHIE

… you do realize both of us are going to sh*t our brains out after this. 

EDDIE

Oh. For sure. This was a bad idea. 

[Introduction music rolls] 

EDDIE

Hello, and welcome back to the Loser Test Kitchen. I’m your host, Eddie Kasprak. 

RICHIE

And I’m your other host. [Richie starts talking like a radio host] DJ Recoooords Tozier! 

EDDIE

That’s Richie. Today, we are continuing our rivalry. As you all know, we have been competing against one another for quite some time. He beat me in seven competitions so far, but I’m still in the lead with eight wins. 

RICHIE

[Back to his normal voice] So I decided to challenge old sourpuss over here to a contest I know for sure I can kick his *ss at. Hot wings challenge? 

EDDIE

Hot wings challenge. 

RICHIE

And, pray tell, Mr. Kasprak. What  _ is _ the hot wings challenge? 

EDDIE

Well, in front of us, we have 8 chicken wings. Each one of them has been coated in hot sauce, and each of those sauces have a different measurement on the scoville scale. Starting with the least spicy, and ending with something that you might or might not have purchased from the black market. 

RICHIE

Hey, man. Being too spicy for public consumption isn’t a crime. 

EDDIE

You told me that you had to pick up the bottle, in person. And pay for it with cash. And it’s in an unmarked bottle. 

RICHIE

So? One of my old friends made it. He’s an eccentric guy. 

[Eddie raises one of his eyebrows at Richie]

RICHIE

Look. If the guy I got this from was actually a creep, I wouldn’t be serving it to you. It’s safe. 

EDDIE

Safe as, and I quote, “Like, a bajillion scoville units” can be. 

RICHIE

Hey, if you want to back out, be my guest. That  _ will _ be a point for me though, making us tied by forfeit. 

EDDIE

You _ wish _ . Bring it on, Trashmouth. 

[Richie laughs, which gets Eddie to chuckle as well] 

RICHE

The game is on! Oh. And to keep things interesting for the audience, and to keep this video going for longer than thirty minutes so we can pack it chock-full of ads- 

EDDIE

Richie, for the love of- [Eddie directs his attention to the camera] We’re going to have our usual two ad limit per video. Do not listen to him. 

RICHIE

We’re going to be asking each other questions during the video. Each of us gets one question per wing. And as the wings get spicier, so will the questions. 

EDDIE

But we don’t have to answer any of them if we don’t want to. 

RICHIE

Right. The challenge here isn’t who can answer the most questions, it’s about the hot wings. 

EDDIE

But I will be answering more questions than Richie does. There’s nothing he could ask me that would rattle me. 

RICHIE

Oh ye of little faith. 

[The camera shows a dramatically filmed shot of the first bottle of hot sauce.]

[BOTTLE 1

**HUY FONG SRIRACHA**

2,200 scoville units] 

[Eddie and Richie take a bite into their first chicken wing. Both seemed pleased by it, nodding at each other while they eat. Once his mouth is cleared of food, Eddie speaks] 

EDDIE

That one’s a classic. Adds a bit of kick to your dish, but doesn’t take anything away from the chicken. 

RICHIE

I could chug a whole bottle of this stuff, man. 

EDDIE

I would advise against that. 

[They both take another bite, truly enjoying the flavor of it.] 

EDDIE

Mmm. So. First question. If you don’t mind me going first. 

RICHIE

Be my guest. 

EDDIE

When you started your career in the entertainment industry, it wasn’t as a chef. Your primary job is being a comedian, and you happen to have a background in the culinary arts. Why did you become interested in cooking? How did you get started? 

RICHIE

Well… to be honest, I just liked f*cking around with stuff as a kid. And there’s only so many times you can try to make home-made bottle rockets in your garage before your mom starts having a nervous breakdown. I think… no. I know what did it. My sister. She had one of those easy bake ovens. Got it for Christmas or something. She got tired of it real fast, and it sat around for a while. So once I knew she wasn’t going to miss it, I snuck it up into my room. I didn’t actually follow any of the recipes in the book, I just mixed random sh*t together and sent it through the oven as many times as I could. 

EDDIE

Like a mad scientist. 

RICHIE

_ Exactly _ like a mad scientist. But sometimes my weird experiments turned out to be sort of good? Then I figured out my mom would let me do whatever the hell I wanted in the kitchen as long as I was “cooking” and didn’t start any stove fires. My dad was kinda cool about it too, sometimes he’d join me and we’d do fake cooking shows together in weird voices.

EDDIE

That’s actually pretty cute. Did you take any videos of it? 

RICHIE

F*ck if I know. We might have brought out the camcorder for one of them. If any tapes exist they’re buried in a box somewhere in the old Tozier folks’ attic. If they kept it at all. Guess I could ask them some time but it’s been like… a year or so since I texted my parents. 

EDDIE

A yea-... Not even for Christmas? Richie. 

RICHIE

What? They’re fine. They’d let me know if anything was going on I needed to know about. 

EDDIE

We’ll talk about this later. Back on topic, you got into cooking as a kid. You went to college for that, right?

RICHIE

Uh, yeah. For a semester. Pretty much failed all my classes because I forgot you still have to write term papers and sh*t. All of the classes where I did actual work in the kitchen were fine, but my professors  _ hated _ me. Well. One of them liked me. But she was also an *sshole so we just got along well together. She tried to give me a pep talk about getting my sh*t together, and I responded by dropping out and moving to California. And the rest is a history you can look up on my wikipedia or whatever. 

EDDIE

Not really. One more question-

RICHIE

That’s not how this game works, cowboy. If you want more information, you gotta take a shot of sauce. 

EDDIE

What? It’s the same line of questioning-

RICHIE

[Makes a hand gesture, miming zipping his lips shut]

EDDIE

… fine. It’s not even that hot, it’s basically ketchup. [Eddie opens the Sriracha bottle, and takes a sip from it, wiping his mouth with a napkin after] Now. You got into comedy, and stopped cooking. 

RICHIE

Well I still cooked. But just like, cooking for other people when I needed to impress someone. And I had a few jobs working with food trucks and in burger joints while I was getting into comedy, but I wouldn’t have called myself a ‘chef’.

EDDIE

Right. But then you got back into it, with ‘Kitchen of the Stars’. 

RICHIE

[exaggerated groan] Ugh. Yeah. Guess someone from casting on the show was digging around and found that I went to culinary school. Thought it’d be great to have a huge f*ck-up on set for some comedic relief. Still haven’t forgiven my agent for that one. 

EDDIE

But you actually ended up doing really well in the show! You got second place! 

RICHIE

Barely. Probably would have been cut at round 4 if Chrissy Teigan hadn’t given one of the judges immediate food poisoning. 

EDDIE

I think you would have won if you stuck around. I know the show didn’t end well for you, but it looked like you were really enjoying yourself in the first rounds. Did that have anything to do with getting you back into cooking professionally? 

RICHIE

… Not really, if I’m being honest. I mean, it was great at first. But… yeah. The note it ended on sucked. 

EDDIE

We don’t have to talk about it. 

RICHIE

It’s fine. I mean, you already know what happened. But for the viewers at home, all you need to know is that I was having a sh*t week, and I had some bad news dropped on me right before we started taping. Some asshole got a hold of my personal contact info and sent me this weird cryptic message that was just like ‘Hey man, I know your secret and I’m going to release it to the public’. I’m a man of many secrets so I didn’t know which one they were talking about, and it got in my head. So I just cut my ties and tried to stay out of the public eye for a while. 

EDDIE

… and that’s when… 

RICHIE

When Big Billiam  _ begged _ me to work for the test kitchen. Not gonna lie, I wasn’t really into the idea of it. My agent also said it was a bad idea, real sh*t payroll and all that. But Bill said he was going to pay for my airfare and hotel, and I was getting kind of bored so I thought, Eh. Why not. 

EDDIE

Yeah well, you’re the one who decided to join after visiting. Guess our kitchen wasn’t as sh*tty as you thought it was. 

RICHIE

Oh no, it was sh*tty. Do you remember what the lounge used to look like? We had like. Two chairs. And a couch that Bill got from some foreclosure sale that had a family of mice living in it. I just took one look at your sweet face and I couldn’t turn down the offer. 

EDDIE

[Smiling] Oh, give me a break. 

RICHIE

What. You seriously didn’t know that? 

EDDIE

What?

RICHIE

No, yeah. You’re like, the only reason I’m here right now dude. 

EDDIE

… you’re not joking. 

RICHIE

Serious as your m***** **** ***** ****** 

EDDIE

_ DUDE.  _

RICHIE

What?

EDDIE

I’m having Mike edit that out. That was so- Do you think? Do you think at all before you say these things? 

RICHIE

Not a day in my life. 

EDDIE

Ugh. [Eddie rubs his face with his hands] … and what about now? Do you like cooking again? 

[Richie smiles, and points back to the sriracha bottle. Eddie makes a face, flips Richie off (censored by a cartoon fire), and takes another swig of it.] 

EDDIE

… So? 

RICHIE

I do. Now that I can do whatever the hell I want again instead of having to make something to someone else’s expectations? I don’t know. It kind of feels like being in my mom’s kitchen again. It’s fun. 

EDDIE

Good. I’m glad. … Alright, your turn. What’s my question? 

RICHIE

You’re a man who is particularly anal about keeping the kitchen clean. What’s your favorite cleaning product? 

EDDIE

F*ck you. 

RICHIE

Not now, Eddie. We’re filming. 

EDDIE

I asked you a really thoughtful question! 

RICHIE

This  _ is _ thoughtful! I’m asking you about your favorite things. I’ll get to the good questions later. 

EDDIE

Ugh. … It’s Lysol products. They have the best reviews, and you don’t need a ton of wipes to get the job done. 

RICHIE

Do they make toilet paper? I could use some of that for my-

EDDIE

Gross!!! [laughing a bit] You’re the worst! God we’re- we’re done with this conversation. I’m moving on, and you’re asking the next question. 

[Video cuts to the next bottle of hot sauce being filmed.]

[BOTTLE 2

**SCORNED WOMAN**

6,000 scoville units]

EDDIE

Huh. Why do you think they call it that? Scorned woman. 

RICHIE

“Hell hath no fury like a scorned woman”. 

EDDIE

Oh, right. [Eddie tries a bite of the chicken wing] … Well, I’m scorned all right. But not because I feel like there’s hell in my mouth. This sh*t’s weak. 

RICHIE

[eating chicken wing, talking with mouth full] All right, not bad. Starting to get a bit spicier. Still not doing anything for me either. 

EDDIE

Can you at least cover your mouth with your hand if you’re going to talk with food in it? 

[Richie does not, instead opening his mouth more while chewing] 

EDDIE

Congratulations, half our viewers just closed out of the window. 

RICHIE

Relax! If they’re here, they’re used to this kind of behavior from me. Do you want the next question or not? 

EDDIE

Fine. Go for it. 

RICHIE

[swallowing his last bite of chicken] Right. So as our faithful viewers know now, you used to believe you were allergic to like. Everything. But recently you got some tests done, and found out you weren’t actually allergic to any of it. The world is your oyster basket, and you can eat as many of them as you want. Now that your options have expanded, what’s your new favorite thing to eat? 

EDDIE

Huh. That’s actually not a bad question. 

RICHIE

You thought I was only going to be asking bad questions?

EDDIE

Absolutely. 

RICHIE

That’s fair. 

EDDIE

Let’s see… [Eddie takes a moment to think about it] … I really like eating potato gratin. I’ve had versions of it with dairy-free cheese, sure, but it doesn’t beat the real deal. 

RICHIE

Oh that’s such a lie. 

EDDIE

What?? No it’s not. I love potato gratin.

RICHIE

Yes it is. But that’s not your  _ favorite  _ thing to eat now. 

EDDIE

Oh? And pray tell. What is my favorite thing to eat? 

RICHIE

_ You _ are a f*cking fiend for children’s breakfast cereals. I seriously think I’ve seen you eat two bowls of lucky charms in one day once. You keep a baggie of it in your locker here for mid-day snacks. 

EDDIE

[laughing] oh.. Oh my god. You’re right. 

RICHIE

You have a problem. This isn’t actually a test kitchen video, these cameras are fake. This is an intervention, and you need to get help. 

EDDIE

[still laughing] Shut up! My mom never let me have any as a kid! I’m catching up for lost time! … speaking of kids, that actually leads into my next question. When you were a kid, you said you spent most of your time at the arcade. 

RICHIE

Yeah, dude. I practically lived there, they should have charged me rent. 

EDDIE

In your expert opinion, what is the best video game ever made, and why? 

RICHIE

Oh,  _ easy _ . That’s street fighter. No contest. 

EDDIE

And why?

RICHIE

Because it’s the best video game ever made? I don’t know, man. I know it’s not the best game design wise. It’s really simple. But you can play it alone or with someone else, and… it just got me through some really tough years. It wasn’t a game you had to think too much about or like, psychoanalyze or anything. And I got really f*cking good at it. So that was a huge confidence boost. 

EDDIE

Damn, it’s been years since I’ve played that. We should play together some time. 

RICHIE

Are you sure? You hate losing at video games. I  _ will _ kick your *ss. You’re not allowed to cry when I pummel you. 

EDDIE

You have no idea of the destruction I am capable of. 

RICHIE

Yes I am. I’ve seen you tear apart my suitcase looking for my passport. 

EDDIE

If you would organize your suitcase instead of throwing everything into it, I wouldn’t have to-

[Hard cut to the third bottle of hot sauce]

[BOTTLE 3

**Crazy Jerry’s Brain Damage Hot Sauce**

11,000 scoville units]

EDDIE

I don’t think you should try this one Richie. You have already suffered through a considerate amount of brain damage in your lifetime. You don’t have many brain cells left to obliterate. 

RICHIE

[laughing] F*ck you, Kasprak. Jerry  _ must _ be crazy if he thinks he can vanquish me. 

[Eddie and Richie both eat their chicken wings] 

EDDIE

…. Hoo… okay. Yeah that’s… starting to get there. 

RICHIE

Damn, Jerry. You weren’t kidding. 

EDDIE

I like it though. This is something I’d actually eat for a full meal. It’s.. what’s in this? [Eddie picks up the bottle, looking over the ingredients] Mangoes… mandarin oranges… you can definitely taste the citrus in it. I like it. 

RICHIE

We’ll pick some up next time we’re at the store. I could f*ck with this again. 

EDDIE

For sure. So our next segment is something we agreed on beforehand, to switch up the formula a bit. We’re calling it “Snapshot Storytime”. Both of us pulled up one photo from each other’s social media pages, and we’ll have to explain what’s going on in the picture. 

RICHIE

Which was impossible for me, because you don’t have any social media accounts. 

EDDIE

The test kitchen does! I show up in pictures on there all the time! 

RICHIE

Yeah, but they’re not fun pics. My accounts are a comedy goldmine. 

EDDIE

Oh, shut up. Take this. [Eddie pulls out a tablet, swiping through it until he has a picture to show Richie. Richie sees it and laughs, and the picture comes up at the bottom corner of the screen. 

The picture shows Richie laying down on a couch in the test kitchen lounge. He is clearly deep asleep. He has a mountain of items piled on top of him, everything from staplers, to bowls, spoons, oranges, apples, even what appears to be a small unplugged toaster oven.]

RICHIE

What you are seeing here is workplace harassment. This is torture. I can’t believe you would show our audience this. 

EDDIE

It was pretty funny. 

RICHIE

Yeah, when you weren’t the one who woke up with a bunch of sh*t piled on top of you. [Richie turns to the camera] You see, viewers, I didn’t live in Boston yet when this was taken. I lived in California, and I had to fly over here any time I wanted to do a video or visit my friends. And the flight from LA to Boston is exhausting, so sometimes I needed to take a quick nap on the couch so I didn’t pass out in the middle of the kitchen. And  _ someone _ thought it would be funny to start putting spoons on top of me until I woke up. 

EDDIE

[laughing] Bev started it! 

RICHIE

And you joined in! 

EDDIE

Everyone joined in! 

RICHIE

Yeah. So long story short, apparently when I’m somewhere with people I  _ thought _ I could trust I’m a heavy sleeper, so I didn’t actually wake up until the pile got too high and a ton of whisks fell off the top and crashed onto the floor. Which I crashed onto 10 seconds later because I’m not used to waking up with a toaster oven digging into my *ss. 

EDDIE

Oh, you were  _ fine _ . 

RICHIE

I will never forgive you for this. 

EDDIE

You posted the picture on your twitter!

RICHIE

Uh, yeah. Because it was funny. 

EDDIE

You’re such a hypocrite. 

RICHIE

One of the best. [Richie goes back to the tablet, pulling up his pick for a picture and showing it to Eddie, who immediately gets a wide grin on his face.] 

EDDIE

Snoop Dogg!

[The picture is revealed. It is a picture taken in the test kitchen, of Eddie and Snoop Dogg standing side by side. Snoop Dogg is flashing a peace sign at the camera, while Eddie is giving two thumbs up with a huge smile.] 

RICHIE

I would never peg you as a fan of Snoop Dogg. 

EDDIE

Are you kidding me?? I mean. I don’t know if I really count as a fan. His music isn’t one of my first go-tos, but I really like it. You can’t listen to Who am I and tell me that’s a bad song. It’s a classic! He’s a literal pillar of the rap community, dude. Like, insanely talented. He’s also a really nice guy in real life, one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. 

RICHIE

And are you going to explain how you and Mr. Dogg are best friends now? 

EDDIE

He’s  _ not _ my best friend, he’s really nice to everyone. And well, Calvin actually got in touch with Bill first-

RICHIE

Wait. You’re on first name basis with him? 

EDDIE

Uh… yeah? I don’t know. We were talking and it felt weird calling him Snoop, so I asked if he preferred going by his real name or his title. He told me he was fine with either one so I just started calling him Calvin. 

RICHIE

Sounds about right. I think I called him ‘Snoopy D’ at one point and he just laughed it off, I don’t think he’s real strict about titles. 

EDDIE

Right. So, he got in touch with Bill because he had seen some of our videos online and wanted to check out the kitchen. Apparently he just like… watches them? For fun? F*ck. He might end up seeing this one. Oh god. 

RICHIE

[To the camera] What up Snoops. 

EDDIE

If you are watching this Calvin, thank you so much again for visiting. It was seriously  _ awesome _ . 

RICHIE

You’re leaving out the most important part. 

EDDIE

Which part?

RICHIE

The part where he wanted to meet you specifically because your videos are his favorites? 

EDDIE

[hides his face in his hands, embarrassed] Oh god. I still have no idea why-

RICHIE

He said you’re funny, man! 

EDDIE

I think he thought my ‘freak outs’ were fake or something. He met me and he was all ‘Oh so you’re actually like that in real life’. I still can’t believe it. 

RICHIE

But he liked it! 

EDDIE

I guess? So … yeah. Now his number is in my phone, and he told me to hit him up if I’m ever visiting LA. 

RICHIE

So you’d visit LA to see Snoop Dogg, but not to visit me. I am heartbroken. 

EDDIE

Oh, calm down, you don’t even live there anymore. And I’d be visiting  _ with _ you. If you’re good I’ll bring you with me when I visit Calvin. 

RICHIE

Dude. Do you think Snoop Dogg would smoke us up? 

EDDIE

You know weed isn’t the only thing he does, right? He’s actually a very good cook, we talked a lot about that. 

RICHIE

As a Hollywood insider, I can very safely assure you that weed is a solid 99% of what Snoop Dogg does. 

EDDIE

… okay, yeah. But I’ve never actually… uh. Tried that before. 

RICHIE

[to the camera] Stay tuned for our next video collaboration: Eddie smokes weed for the first time with Snoop Dogg. 

EDDIE

We are  _ not _ filming that. 

[Camera cuts to the fourth bottle of hot sauce] 

[BOTTLE 4

**BLAIR’S AFTER DEATH SAUCE**

49,000 scoville units]

[Eddie and Richie raise their chicken wings to each other in a toast, and then bite into them. They seem comfortable for a few moments, before Eddie’s face twists up] 

EDDIE

… oh. H… huh. 

RICHIE

What’s wrong? Staring to str-...ggg.. Struggle? Punk? 

EDDIE

Oh come on, you’re not doing any better. That’s…  _ wow _ . 

RICHIE

At least we’re finally starting to get into the real stuff. Hoo!! That packs a- oh god it just got worse. How is it getting worse? 

EDDIE

It’s like… time-release. Or something. F*ck me. This is no longer enjoyable. 

RICHIE

This is no longer about having a good time. This isn’t flavor. This is war. 

EDDIE

Yeah well, I’m about to win this war so. Better get used to it. Speaking of war… I have a hypothetical situation for you. 

RICHIE

And I have a hypothetical answer. 

EDDIE

Right. So, let’s say the apocalypse happens. And it’s a zombie apocalypse, so all of a sudden there’s a bunch of undead people running around. You can only team up with one member from the test kitchen to try to survive the apocalypse with. Who do you pick? 

RICHIE

You, obviously. 

EDDIE

[rolls his eyes, but smiles] We wouldn’t make it very far. 

RICHIE

Are you kidding me? You’re like a pint sized version of a bloodthirsty pitbull. I wouldn’t even have to do anything, I’d just give you an axe and watch you take everything out around you. 

EDDIE

You are either grossly overestimating my physical capabilities, or underestimating my anxiety disorders. 

RICHIE

Well hey. If we don’t make it, at least we’d have each other. 

EDDIE

… of course. But. If I like, already turned into a zombie and you couldn’t pick me, who would you choose? 

RICHIE

Hmmm… Mike. Yeah. Because he’s pretty fit, but he also knows sh*t. He could set up a water filtration system for us or something. Then the two of us would put you on a leash and keep you around as our zombie pet. Give you plenty of sheep brains to keep you going and give you your own room at our headquarters. 

EDDIE

That is a horrible idea. 

RICHIE

Well too bad. I couldn’t just leave you behind… [Richie sounds a bit sad when he says that, trailing off. But he shakes his head a bit, redirecting the conversation] What about you? If I got zombified and you had to old-yeller me out back, who are you taking along with you? 

EDDIE

Is that your question this round? Or do you want to take a shot for it? 

RICHIE

Oh, come on. That’s not fair. You took the shot on the baby-sauce. 

EDDIE

You don’t have to take a full shot. Half shot. Then I’ll talk. 

RICHIE

[Staring at the bottle] …. Naw. Not worth it for this one. I’ll just pry it out of you later. 

EDDIE

Fine. Wimp. 

RICHIE

_ You _ take the shot if you’re such a tough guy!

EDDIE

I already asked my question. I don’t have to. 

RICHIE

B*stard. Fine. [he was frowning, but that quickly changes to a smirk] …. You got any tattoos? 

EDDIE

[looks absolutely floored by the question, but then grins] F*ck you. 

RICHIE

What?? We said the questions were going to get spicy. 

EDDIE

You know the answer to that!

RICHIE

But the audience doesn’t. And hey, maybe they never will. You can skip the question if you want. 

EDDIE

God, I hate you. I mean I can’t just not answer, that’s even worse at this point. Now everyone knows I have something, they’re all going to assume its way worse than it is if I don’t answer. 

RICHIE

Sooo? What is it? 

EDDIE

Ugh. It’s… ah, it’s like. A skull. On my… er, general hip area. I got it there on purpose so it wouldn’t show if I was wearing a bathing suit. [he laughs a bit to himself] It’s f*cking stupid. I got it when I was in college because I wanted to do something crazy. I just walked into a parlor and picked out a design from one of those big poster boards. And it’s not big! It’s small. But it wasn’t really about the tattoo or the design, it was like… rebelling. Or something. I didn't even sit through the whole session, it's only half shaded because I had a panic attack and walked out. It’s stupid. 

RICHIE

It’s not stupid. It’s cute. 

EDDIE

[Flushes] Oh my god, stop. 

RICHIE

It is! Baby Eddie, going out and doing something wild and crazy! It’s adorable!

EDDIE

Stop!

[Camera cuts to the 5th bottle.]

[BOTTLE 5

**YOU CAN’T HANDLE THIS HOT SAUCE**

80,000 scoville units]

EDDIE

Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. 

RICHIE

Hell yeah, Eds. Stick it to the man. 

EDDIE

_ You _ can’t handle this hot sauce. 

RICHIE

I can and I will handle this hot sauce. 

[Both of them take a bite of the next chicken wing. It takes a second to hit, but both of them let out a joint groan of pain when the flavor kicks in.] 

EDDIE

_ WHY?!  _

RICHIE

I…. hah… f*ck me, dude. Just f*ck me. 

EDDIE

Who made this? [picks up the bottle, looking for more information] Seriously, I’m getting in contact with the production team so I can send them hateful letters. This sucks! 

RICHIE

If you figure that out let me know. I need to know where to send the invoice for my hospital bills after this. Can you even taste anything anymore? I think I just lost my taste buds. 

EDDIE

I think I- OH F*CK. Yup! There’s the second wave! 

RICHIE

What second w-HORF. F*ck, dude! 

EDDIE

Please just ask the next question so I have something else to think about. 

RICHIE

Right, good call. So uh… [Richie looks down at his list of questions, hesitating for a few moments] … So, uh. Describe some of your best assets to me. 

EDDIE

… what? 

RICHIE

You know. What makes you great? And not just the cheap bragging you do when you feel like being a little sh*t. I mean, actually hype yourself up for a moment. You’ve got plenty of material. 

EDDIE

I… I really don’t. 

RICHIE

Yeah you do. Come on, man. If you don’t answer I’m just going to do it myself and I’ll embarasses the hell out of you. 

EDDIE

Ugh. Fine. I guess… I don’t know. I’m good at cooking. 

RICHIE

Too easy. What else? 

EDDIE

And… f*ck why is this so hard. It’s the hot sauce. I can’t think right now. 

RICHIE

We’ve got all day. 

EDDIE

… I’m a very punctual person. If I say I am going to be somewhere at a certain time, I always arrive at least a few minutes early. 

RICHIE

Sometimes an hour early. 

EDDIE

It’s polite! It’s better to be early than late! 

RICHIE

It’s less polite to flip your sh*t any time someone is 5 minutes late to something. 

EDDIE

Yeah, well that’s disrespectful.  _ Richie _ . 

RICHIE

This isn’t about me right now, focus. I’m not letting you stop until I feel like you’ve listed off enough good traits. What else?

EDDIE

This is stupid. 

RICHIE

_ And _ ? 

EDDIE

… and I guess I care about my friends a lot. I’d do anything for you guys. And I’m in decent physical shape, I guess I wouldn’t say I’m not attractive. 

RICHIE

[wolf whistles] 

EDDIE

Stop. 

RICHIE

Come on, Hunk. Let’s get one more out of you. Make it a good one.

EDDIE

I uh… I’m very good at calculating my taxes on my own. 

RICHIE

[makes a buzzer noise] EEH. Nope. That’s a cop out. Try again. 

EDDIE

F*ck you! Fine. … [he gets lost in thought for a moment, before smiling gently] … a wise man once told me I’m braver than I think I am. 

RICHIE

[that gets a genuine smile out of Richie] … sounds like a smart guy. Very observant. 

EDDIE

He has his moments. Am I done now? Can we move onto the next question? 

RICHIE

Fine. You’ve suffered enough, for now. 

EDDIE

Good. So. We’re all basically public figures at this point, but no one in the test kitchen has a career that can measure up to yours. You’ve been famous for a long time. 

RICHIE

I’ve been  _ working _ for a long time. I’ve been famous for under a decade. 

EDDIE

Still. What’s that like? Some people can recognize me, but you’re basically a household name. Do you enjoy it? 

RICHIE

Not really… I mean. It has its perks. Sometimes I get really expensive sh*t for free, and I can get reservations at some pretty f*cking swanky places. But I guess I don’t like it as much as I thought I would. 

EDDIE

Why not? 

RICHIE

It’s stressful as f*ck, man. I get maybe one or two people a year who approach me in the street just to tell me they like my work. Most people expect something out of you when they chase you down the block, you know? Like, they want an autograph to sell off later. Or they want a picture. Or they want to show you this hilarious tweet they made about you, or get you to say something weird on their iphone camera. And it’s like, sometimes I just want to get a pack of cigarettes. But any time someone approaches you, you can’t just be a dick to them. They don’t get why you’re in a good or bad mood. So you just have to put on a show for them even if you’re f*cking exhausted and out of it. 

EDDIE

That’s still really nice of you. I know some celebrities don’t even try. 

RICHIE

Yeah. And I can’t say I blame them. But you slip up one time, and suddenly everyone on the internet is calling you out for being a piece of sh*t. So it’s just a better idea to grin and bear it. 

EDDIE

So…. for the fans out there listening to this. You don’t want anyone to approach you in public?

RICHIE

No! No I mean- I’ve been on the other side too. I’ve seen some people I really look up to, and I get all flustered and just want to tell them how cool I think they are. But you can just like, say that, shake their hand, and go on with your day. When people approach me like that it’s honestly awesome. It’s just the right amount of ego boost with none of the awkwardness. 

EDDIE

I  _ knew _ part of you liked it. 

RICHIE

I am a validation sponge. I need constant praise and positive affirmations or I will shrivel up and die. Please keep telling me you think I’m funny. 

EDDIE

_ I  _ think you’re funny. 

RICHIE

See? This is why I keep you around. You’re my best hype-man. Also your ass is  _ insane _ . Like, crazy-

EDDIE

Anyways. 

[Camera cuts to the 6th bottle.] 

[BOTTLE 6

**PREDATOR GREAT WHITE SHARK**

175,000 scoville units]

EDDIE

… have you noticed that the titles of these sauces have become increasingly menacing as we’ve been moving up the line? 

RICHIE

You know, great white sharks are not actually that scary. Not in the way most common people are afraid of them. Yeah if one gets a hold of you it’ll tear your arm clean off, but do you know how many people a year get attacked by great white sharks? An average of about 80.  _ On the entire planet _ . 2,000 people die a year from getting struck by lightning. You know how many people on average die from a shark attack? Four. Four people. Out of seven and a half billion people! And your chances of that happening are literally less likely than getting struck by lightning. You’re not saying anything. 

EDDIE

… oh. Sorry I just- … You were talking statistics at me and my brain short-circuited for a second. 

RICHIE

[raises his eyebrows a bit] Oh? Is that doing it for ya? 

EDDIE

We will have words about this later.  _ How _ do you even know about all of that? 

RICHIE

[shrugs] Eh. I was really into horror movies as a kid. I really dug jaws, so I got super into researching sharks. Turns out they’re not as cool in real life. 

EDDIE

So what you’re saying is that this sauce is about to talk a bit game, but be an overall disappointing experience. 

RICHIE

If it is as spicy as it says it is, I’m saying we need to sue for false advertising. 

EDDIE

Right. 

[They both lift the chicken wings, and take a bite. They chew for a bit, and Eddie closes his eyes.] 

EDDIE

God. It hasn’t hit yet. This is going to be bad. Really. Really bad. 

RICHIE

See? What’d I tell ya. Great white sharks aint sh-

EDDIE

No. Richie.. No. It’s starting slow. It’s… ohhhhhkay. 

RICHIE

… Oh yeah. No. I’m getting the climb right now. It’s hitting. 

EDDIE

[hiccups] Oh… Oh n- [hiccups again] Stop! 

RICHIE

I’m not doing anything!

EDDIE

Not you! I’m- [hiccups] yelling at my lungs to- [hiccups again] QUIT IT! 

RICHIE

[leans forward a bit, clearly struggling, gently holding a napkin to his mouth without rubbing it before he sits back up again] Hey, man. Listen. I’m about to reach for that glass of milk right now, and I need you to not judge me for it. I’m straight up not having a good time right now. 

EDDIE

No I- [hiccups] I was about to do the same thing. Yeah. 

[both of them reach for the milk simultaneously. Eddie takes a few careful sips, as Richie downs half the glass in one go.] 

EDDIE

Dude. 

RICHIE

I need to coat my entire insides with this. F*ck, can you feel that in your stomach? I think this is the first time I ever felt something burning my stomach lining. 

EDDIE

Ready to give [hiccups] up yet? We can end this now. 

RICHIE

Like hell I am. But we should probably take a 5 minute break or something? I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet or not, but you’re hiccuping. It’s very distracting. 

EDDIE

[flips Richie the middle finger, and hiccups] 

[Hard cut to a short time later, after Eddie’s hiccups have stopped] 

EDDIE

There. See? No hiccups. 

RICHIE

_ Yet _ . The night isn’t over. We’ve got two wings after this. 

EDDIE

Oh, don’t you dare act like this hasn’t been affecting you too. I can see the sweat on your face from all the way over here. 

RICHIE

It’s the lights from the set. And we don’t have a makeup crew to dab my forehead every two minutes. 

EDDIE

_ Sure _ it is. Next question. … so. Again. We don’t have to answer these questions if we don’t want to. But it’s getting towards the end, so… 

RICHIE

Hey, Eds. It’s okay. Just ask. We’ll just cut it out and move on if we don’t want to talk about it. 

EDDIE

Right. We both agreed on that. 

RICHIE

Exactly. 

EDDIE

Okay. So… You’ve been a comedian for quite some time. And you’ve often joked about some pretty off-color topics in the past, which has gained you a reputation as a misogynist and a womanizer. How much of your comedy act was for the camera, and what portion of it was real? 

RICHIE

Huh…. deep question. I mean like, elbow-deep in there-

EDDIE

We honestly don’t have to talk about this. 

RICHIE

Naw. We can. 

EDDIE

You’re doing the ‘uncomfortable’ thing again. 

RICHIE

What thing? 

EDDIE

That thing where all your jokes become a million percent more sexual the second you start feeling nervous. You’re not comfortable talking about this. We’ll cut-

RICHIE

My mouth feels like it has a thousand fire ants crawling around inside of it right now, man. The whole point of this is getting a “bit uncomfortable”. Are you gonna let me answer or not? 

EDDIE

Uh, sure. Go for it. 

RICHIE

Okay. So… one second. [Richie takes another sip of milk] Right. So there’s a short answer and a long answer to this. Short answer is: All comedians are complete bullsh*t. Never believe anything you hear in a stand-up act. The story has been workshopped a hundred times to make it funny, and it’s changed ever so slightly every time. Nothing’s real. Everything's fake. 

EDDIE

I don’t know about that. What about the ones who are known for the rawness of their material? Like, Maria Bamford. 

RICHIE

Oh, that’s different. You can believe most of the sad sh*t you hear on stage. Pretty much all of that is accurate. It’s the jokes you can’t trust. And my material is all jokes, complete horsesh*t from start to end. 

EDDIE

But that’s the short answer. Am I going to have to stop you before the long answer completely obliterates your stand-up career? 

RICHIE

Would you believe me if I told you I went into this video knowing I was about to deliberately obliterate my stand up career? 

EDDIE

I wouldn’t call it a good career decision, but you know I’ve got your back no matter what. Plus we can start cutting video segments out of this at any time. 

RICHIE

The final video is going to be 5 seconds long. Just the two of us eating chicken wings and making pained facial expressions. 

EDDIE

No, this video will never be released to the public. It’ll just collect dust in the back of Mike’s secret archives. 

RICHIE

We will have suffered through all of this for nothing. 

EDDIE

Exactly. And with that, the floor is yours, Mr. Tozier. 

RICHIE

Right. So the long answer is… I’m not much better in real life. I mean, besides the womanizing part of it. I’m not like that at all. But I say sh*t that I definitely should not say like, all the time. And I probably drink more than I should. Anyone who hated my stage persona would probably hate me in real life too. Even people who watch the test kitchen videos probably wouldn’t like talking to me face to face, the Richie Tozier experience gets a lot harder to handle when you don’t have an editor cutting out the worst parts of it. 

EDDIE

That’s not true! You’re actually really cool to hang out with. 

RICHIE

… when we first met, you told me you were going to shove a hand towel so far down my throat, it was going to come out of my *ss and give me a permanent hemorrhoid. 

EDDIE

…. Oh. Did I say that? Really? 

RICHIE

Yuh-huh. 

EDDIE

Oh. Well… ok, but you were being  _ super  _ rude- … I see your point.  _ But _ . You just give off a very bad first impression. Once you warm up to people you are actually pretty thoughtful and nice. Your stage persona was  _ actually  _ a d*ck. You had a whole set about how women are born stupid. 

RICHIE

[groans] God, I hated that set. But it was one of my most popular ones. I still get people quoting it at me. It’s going to haunt me the rest of my life and… hey, I probably deserve that. Made my bed, now I gotta lie in it. But the worst part is that nobody has ever understood the only good part of that joke. 

EDDIE

There’s a good part?

RICHIE

One. My closing line. So I spend the whole set just talking trash about women, right? Again, none of it makes any actual sense. Not my actual opinion. It’s all just… garbage that normal guys say about women. If you think that’s funny, it's not. But. Then you get to the closing line. After all of that, I say ‘I don’t hate women, I just don’t like them’. And everyone always assumes that the joke is I think women are stupid, and I don’t think highly of them. But that’s not the funny part. 

EDDIE

Richie…

RICHIE

It’s ok. I … oh, sh*t. Yup, lost my momentum, hold on. [Richie takes another sip of milk, reaching down to grab a half-gallon of milk to refill the glass, giving his hands something to do as he speaks] Alright. So the funny part is that everyone assumes that I don’t think highly of women, so I hate them. And that’s not true. I don’t hate women. But the second part of that statement is also real. I don’t _ like _ women. Not in the way that guys are supposed to like them. 

[Richie sets the half gallon on the table, sipping from his glass again] 

RICHIE

Women are great! Love the sh*t out of them. There’s plenty of ladies I’ve met before that could kick my ass and I’d thank them for it. But I could never fall in love with one. Because I … like men. So it’s… there’s a lot of layers to the joke. Guess that’s why it’s a sh*t joke. No one wants comedy you have to pull apart and get into mind-reading to understand. 

[Eddie stares at Richie with wide eyes, and a look of concern on his face] 

EDDIE

Rich… you sure about this? 

RICHIE

Sure that I like men? Uh, yeah. Kind of got that vibe after the fifth d*ck I had in my mouth. 

EDDIE

You  _ know _ I don’t mean tha-... Just. It’s… you’re. You’re saying it. Right now. 

RICHIE

Yup. And I am horrendously uncomfortable. Like, two seconds away from heaving all this up into the trash can next to me. 

EDDIE

Oh god,  _ do not _ do that. That’s going to burn the sh*t out of your throat, dude. 

RICHIE

_ But _ , the important part is… it’s fine. It feels weird but, it’s... It’s fine. This feels right. Oh wait, god- [Richie turns to the camera] Look. Don’t make this into a big deal, okay? Yes I just, I’m coming out of the closet, or whatever. Big whoop. Just like the video and move on with your lives. I do not want anyone to congratulate me about this. In fact? Don’t even watch the rest of this video. Close out now. Go watch pugs wrestling. That’s way more important than this is. 

EDDIE

Well, can _ I _ congratulate you? [smiling softly] Seriously. I know you don’t want it to be a big deal but… I’m really happy for you right now. And I’m so f*cking proud of you. 

RICHIE

[flushes slightly] I guess? Jeez, where did this question even start? 

EDDIE

I asked whether or not you are a womanizer in real life, and you told me you’re gay. So the answer is no, but you’re still sorry to women everywhere. 

RICHIE

I have a t-shirt that says that, you know. I’m still going to keep and wear it after this, that one’s going to be accurate for the rest of my life. 

EDDIE

Alright. So we’ve established that I’m happy for you. But also? F*ck you. That was a really good answer. There’s no way I’m going to be able to follow that up. 

RICHIE

Well… uh. Huh. Yeah. Guess we’ll have to see? 

[VIDEO CUTS OUT]

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

One hour before the filming of the hot wings challenge, Richie was on his own. 

Eddie was off in the actual room they were going to film in with Mike and Bill, setting up the table and chairs, and doing test shots to make sure the lighting was appropriately set up. 

Richie had told everyone that he wanted to smoke a cigarette before they started, one last hurrah, so he was excused momentarily. He went outside through the back door, but didn’t pull out any cigarettes. 

Instead, he pulled out a small list from his pocket. The set of questions he was planning on asking Eddie, along with his back-up list. 

He hadn’t initially thought he would take this question challenge that seriously. It was a dumb idea for a game, he could have asked anything mundane and the reactions from eating hot sauces would make up for the lack of well-thought out content. 

But he had too long to think about it. What had started as a list of cheap sexual jokes started to morph into something new. Something much deeper than he had anticipated. Things he actually wanted to hear Eddie talk about. 

Things like what Eddie enjoyed in life. The people he met that left his star-struck. What he could see in himself now that Richie was in his life to pull all of that to the surface. 

And somewhere along the process, Richie had come up with a plan. A very, very dangerous plan. 

But it was okay. He had a back-up. He had his initial list, full of the questions he actually wanted to ask. If Eddie didn’t want to answer any of them, or seemed hesitant about the information Richie was willing to slowly give out, he could pull it back and immediately switch to his back-up list. 

If he stuck to his original list, things were going to change for him. For both of them. Richie knew that. 

But he had come to an important decision one morning when he had woken up next to Eddie. He stayed laying down, and watched him sleeping for a good half hour, and thought about how he was once had a solid rule about never allowing men to stay in his bed after they had sex. He always kicked them out immediately after, avoiding that awkward time period the morning after where you actually had to engage the other person in a real conversation that had almost no chance of leading to more sex. 

Eddie was the first person he had ever willingly woken up in the same bed with, and it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. 

Richie was not good at changing. He had never wanted to, in the past. He was set in his ways. Miserable, distant, and lonely. But safe. Static. 

But he had. He had changed. And instead of suffering, it had brought him something wonderful. Something he wanted to keep. 

Eddie had done a million crazy things for Richie. He deserved someone doing something a bit crazy for him in return. 


	11. After Dinner Cocktails part 2: Bordeaux Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has something important to ask Eddie, as the Hot Wings Challenge wraps up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know Vienna by Billy Joel... ;] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NgXC6CcojHs Theme song for the ending

[VIDEO RESUMES] 

RICHIE

So… 

EDDIE

Richie? Are you okay? Are you getting hit by a third wave of spice or something? You’re sweating really bad right now, dude. 

RICHIE

Ha! Yeah. [Richie wipes his forehead with the napkin] For sure. It’s the… spice thing. Really f*cking up my sweat glands right now. Is that normal? Do I need a doctor? 

EDDIE

Not yet. I’ll let you know if I start seeing any bad warning signs. Unless… you want to drop out right now. That’s an option. 

RICHIE

Hey, man. The Cowardly Lion didn’t earn his badge of courage by dropping out of hot wing eating contests. You gotta face the pain to win. 

EDDIE

Then let’s go on to- oh. Wait, you still need to ask me my question. I forgot you hadn’t. What’s question number 6? 

RICHIE

…. Right. Yeah. [Richie faces the camera] Alright Mike? Heads up, buddy. This is going to be the starting point of where you need to start cutting if this doesn’t go well. Okay? 

EDDIE

I… don’t like how that sounds? 

RICHIE

It’s not bad! I mean. I don’t think it is? It might be bad. But we can cut it if we need to-

EDDIE

Oh my god we have established that  _ so  _ many times, just ask the question Richie. 

RICHIE

Right. So… you know about the Test Kitchen conspiracy groups, right? 

EDDIE

I’m vaguely familiar? There was that whole fan-theory thing that I wasn’t actually allergic to eggs. And I guess it was kind of right, but they thought I was faking the allergy on purpose. For some reason. Can you believe that? What kind of person do they think I am? 

RICHIE

Yeah, that was f*cked up. But there’s multiple conspiracy theories out there. Like one group that is convinced that Ben can’t actually cook and he’s just a model we hired to pose next to food. 

EDDIE

[starts laughing] What?! He… we have videos of him cooking! Multiple videos!

RICHIE

I know! Crazy, right? Then there’s this theory that I burned down the test kitchen back in January, and we’re using a new kitchen that looks exactly like the old one while we’re fixing damages to pretend nothing happened. 

EDDIE

In the audience’s defense, you did almost burn everything down. It wasn’t your fault, but that definitely almost happened. 

RICHIE

Yeah, yeah. And we had to replace the cabinet doors to cover the damage. But some of these theories get really wild. 

EDDIE

Go on…

RICHIE

Like… I mean there’s some people who sort of… I mean there’s people who figured out that Ben and Bev were dating before they made any sort of official announcement about it. Which kind of sucks. But that’s the problem with having videos online, right? People see two friends having a good time together and they automatically assume they’re f*cking. Which I mean. In that case they were right about it. But still. That’s wild. 

EDDIE

[very confused] So you… wanted to ask me if I knew that Ben and Bev were together before they announced it? 

RICHIE

No. I’m- … I’m getting to it, okay? There’s another conspiracy theory a lot like that one. Only it’s about… two other people in the test kitchen. 

EDDIE

Oh my god. Is this about **** and ****? 

RICHIE

Wait, what? For real? No that can’t… unless? 

[A very stealthy hard cut is added to this portion of the video. Dialogue has been cut out, but only someone with a well trained eye could see where the conversation was stopped and begun again] 

EDDIE

That’s seriously what you wanted my opinion on? I thought these were going to be personal questions. 

RICHIE

No, no. Sorry, got sidetracked. Point is, we do a lot of videos together. You and me. Mano e mano. Because we work well together, and we make good content together. 

EDDIE

And you’re saying people think we’re…

[Richie makes a serious of vaguely lewd hand gestures] 

RICHIE

… Which is crazy, right?! Hey, I warned you these questions were about to get spicy. That’s right, Edward Kasprak. The internet thinks you and I are fornicating. Hopping the broom together. Doing the horizontal tango. Headed to home plate! Doing the bedroom rodeo. Bonestorming. Taking the ol’ one-eye to the optometrist. Making the beast with two ba-

EDDIE

Richie for the love of god-

RICHIE

Okay, read ya loud and clear. Right. So you get that. Well that’s what some people think. And that’s not fair, right? People can’t just assume that about us. So now’s your chance to show them who’s boss. Let the people know! Do you have anyone special in your life right now? Or if you don’t, who’s your ideal woman? 

[Eddie looks at Richie for a few moments. Some of the silence has been cut out for time, but it’s clear that Eddie has looked the same throughout the silence. Thoughtful, and a bit nervous, but not scared or put-off. He finally lifts his head, and looks back to Richie.] 

EDDIE

It’s you. I love you, Richie. 

RICHIE

…… oh my god. You’re gay too?

[Eddie laughs loudly, reaching over the table so he can lightly slap Richie on the shoulder] 

RICHIE

[smiling now, wide and full of joy] Why didn’t you tell me?! Dude, we could have been going at it this whole time! 

EDDIE

[turns to the camera] He’s not going to explain it to you, so I will. Yes. Richie Tozier and I are currently dating one another. It probably has not been going on for as long as some of you think, but we’re very happy together. Even if he drives me up a f*cking wall on a daily basis. [Eddie turns back to Richie] We  _ can’t _ keep shooting this video. The questions are supposed to get harder as the wings get hotter. We  _ can’t  _ top this. 

RICHIE

I can top anything. 

EDDIE

You….. You know what? Let’s keep going. Even if the questions suck from now on, I just want to see you suffer. For that one joke alone. You’re no longer allowed to back out. I’m making you chug the final bottle. 

RICHIE

[Reaches out, and puts his hand on top of Eddie’s on the table counter] Anything you want, Eds. 

EDDIE

[goes back to smiling, turning his hand over so he can grip onto Richie’s hand] 

[Hard cut to the seventh bottle, as incredibly ominous music plays.] 

[BOTTLE 7

**MAD DOG 357 HOT SAUCE**

357,000 scoville units]

[Eddie and Richie are still holding hands across the table from one another. Both of them have a chicken wing in their other hand, staring at it.] 

EDDIE

… It’s not even in my mouth and I can feel the spice in my nose. By scent. Alone. 

RICHIE

Hey. Like you said. You can drop out at any time. 

EDDIE

Suck a D*ck. 

RICHIE

You are  _ not  _ going to want your d*ck in my mouth after this, man. That’s a guaranteed third degree burn. 

EDDIE

…. F*ck it. 

[Eddie goes in and takes a bite first, and Richie quickly follows after. They both chew with their eyes closed, waiting for the spice to kick in. It happens a bit faster this time, starting with Eddie doubling over and almost hitting his head against the leftover chicken wings on the table in front of him. Richie is trying to breathe heavily through his mouth, using his free hand to get as much milk into his mouth as possible. Eddie tries saying something, but his microphone on his lapel is pushed into the wooden table and isn’t able to pick up anything he’s saying. Richie has paused with his glass of milk hovering close to this face, staring off into space] 

RICHIE

I… hhuh… I think I… my third eye just opened. And I’m seeing God. And he just told me this was the worst idea. 

EDDIE

[has rotated himself just enough for the microphone to pick up his voice again] If god was real he…. Why… why did he let this happen… 

RICHIE

What?? Wait you… you just said something. I couldn’t hear it. What?? 

EDDIE

I said if- …. Hnngg…. [Eddie has gone back to fully doubled over the table] 

RICHIE

[Has switched his survival strategy. Astral projecting has not stopped the pain, so he starts leaning into it. Tilting his head back, and shouting] Woo!!! Yeah!! I’m feeling it now!! 

EDDIE

F*ck off-HEAUGH. [Eddie starts coughing, but manages to cut it short, lifting back up and going for his glass of milk] F*ck!!!! 

RICHIE

Dude… you… you look like you’re dying right now. 

EDDIE

Yeah, and you h-... huhg…. Have tears streaming down your face! 

RICHIE

Oh, sh*t- [Richie goes to wipe his eyes with his hands]

EDDIE

Do  _ NOT _ rub your eyes right now!!!! You need to use a fresh napkin! F*cking- here. Take mine. I haven’t touched it. 

[Eddie lets go of Richie’s hand to hand him a napkin, so none of the spice of the hot sauces touches the paper.] 

RICHIE

[takes the napkin gratefully, using it to clear all moisture off of his face] So. What’s your greatest fear?

EDDIE

… what??? 

RICHIE

Sorry. All my other questions had lead-ins or something. I’m just… this is  _ bad, _ man. I can’t set sh*t up anymore. That’s my question. What are you afraid of?

EDDIE

Uh… g.. That’s… rough question. Or not rough? Just… oh it’s so hard to think right now. 

RICHIE

Babe, drink some milk. 

EDDIE

Right. [Eddie reaches aside for his milk, finishing the rest of it in one go. He puts down the glass, and Richie immediately refills it] Thanks. It’s.. hoo… no it’s still bad. Is this going away? Ever? 

RICHIE

No idea. It feels like this is a forever thing. Is that what you’re afraid of right now? 

EDDIE

No. No I’m… I’m still afraid of getting sick. It’s better now. It used to be way worse. I used to… oh god… I used to get panic attacks any time I got a cold. For a few years I woke up every morning and took my temperature right away to make sure I didn’t have a fever. I was just… I was sure, if I started to get sick, it would keep going until I died. A slight cough is fine, but that can lead to your lungs filling with fluid. Which leads to pneumonia, which leads to lung abscesses and…. I can basically track any disease from the first symptom to death. I still can. 

RICHIE

So… what’s the difference between then and now? 

EDDIE

It’s better. For sure. I still think about it, but I… I don’t feel like it’s holding my life back anymore. It’s better now. Like right now? I can’t breathe. I am… I am having trouble breathing. This is  _ bad _ . But I know I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m not going into respiratory failure. If this happened two years ago, I’d need an inhaler right now. But I don’t. I’m handling this. 

RICHIE

I’m proud of you. 

EDDIE

I already used that one on you. Get your own line. 

RICHIE

[starts laughing, which turned into a pained cough] God, you weren’t kidding about the breathing thing. 

EDDIE

What are you most afraid of? 

RICHIE

What?? Eddie. Man. I’m saying this because I care about you, I can’t let you take a shot of this sauce. 

EDDIE

It’s not an extra question, I haven’t asked my question yet this round! I’m using my turn to serve the question back to you. Biggest fear. 

RICHIE

Uh… This. This video. 

EDDIE

Har-dee-har har. 

RICHIE

No,  _ actually _ . Coming out was my biggest fear. No contest. 

EDDIE

Oh… Richie… 

RICHIE

There’s a reason why I haven’t wanted to do it up until now. I was scared sh*tless of what would happen if I ever told anyone about it. Hell. I’m still f*cking terrified of what’s going to happen after this. Kind of like you. It’s not controlling my life anymore, but it’s still there. It’s probably still going to be around in the back of my mind for the rest of my life. 

[Richie takes another large sip of milk] 

RICHIE

What helped you get mostly over your fear of getting sick? 

EDDIE

… I had someone by my side that made me feel strong. What about you? 

RICHE

I found someone worth risking everything for. 

[Camera cuts to the Final Bottle. It is a very long shot, complete with close ups on the bottle. It is a bright red hot sauce. There is no label on it, but someone has drawn a skull and crossbones on the bottle with a black sharpie. Dramatic music plays again, at its loudest volume yet] 

[BOTTLE 8. 

**SOME GUY NAMED DAVE’S HOT SAUCE**

?????? scoville units]

RICHIE

… So. There’s two possibilities here. 

EDDIE

Yeah? 

RICHIE

Either my friend Dave is a hack, and this last wing is going to be a cake walk compared to Mad dog. Or it will literally kill us. 

EDDIE

Neither of those options seems like a good outcome… I hate to be the one to say this, but it might be a good idea to call it a draw here. 

RICHIE

Yeah. We could just call it a day and go back home. We’ve got more than enough content. 

EDDIE

…. Or… 

RICHIE

Or? 

EDDIE

We already know if we eat this, it’s almost definitely going to destroy us. Right? 

RICHIE

That’s a very logical assumption. Yeah. 

[Eddie reaches out, and holds the last bottle of hot sauce. He lifts it up, and positions it over the final chicken wing] 

RICHIE

Are you… are you out of your mind right now? Eddie. Don’t. 

[Eddie tilts the bottle, splashing a dab of extra sauce on his last wing] 

RICHIE

You f*cking maniac. 

EDDIE

Go hard or go home. And I’m going _ hard _ . 

RICHIE

Well. Mark me down as scared _ and  _ horny. 

EDDIE

[laughs] Ready to dig in? 

RICHIE

[with a frustrated sigh] No. 

EDDIE

Oh? What. You’re giving up? 

RICHIE

No, you just… now I  _ have _ to put on extra sauce too. If I go in with a dry wing now, you’re going to one-up me. 

[Richie reaches for the final sauce, carefully inspecting the amount that Eddie put on his final wing so he doesn’t have to add more sauce than strictly necessary. Once both of their wings are prepared, they hold them both up, tapping them together in a final toast] 

EDDIE

To your friend David, and his mystery sauce. 

RICHIE

To Dave. May he burn in hell. 

[Both of them take a bite of their last wing, trying to chew and swallow as fast as possible. They both wait a few moments.] 

EDDIE

… Okay. So. Maybe it’s not a bad one. I think we got off safe. 

RICHIE

No. We’ve made that mistake before. It’s coming. Soon. 

EDDIE

Oh….. oh. OH. [Eddie stands up from his chair, head moving out of the shot from the camera on the tripod. There are no cameramen to follow his movements as he starts pacing around the table in circles, holding one of his hands about an inch away from his mouth] No, no. No. No! No. 

[Richie makes a pained look of horrible agony on his face. He skips his glass of milk entirely, opting instead to just start chugging milk out of the jug. Direct from the source.] 

EDDIE

[still pacing around the room] WHAT THE F*CK?! WHAT THE ACTUAL F*CK IS THIS?! 

[Milk has started to spill out of the corners of Richie’s mouth as he chugs. He does not seem to care. Eddie stops walking, but stays standing up. He puts both hands on the back of his chair, desperately trying to breath in and out in a controlled manner.] 

RICHIE

Ughh… grk- Oh. Mother f*cker. I.. oh it’s. It’s coming back up. Ohhh. 

[Richie leans off to the side, looming over a hidden trash can] 

EDDIE

Richie!! Stop you… it’s going to… you can’t let it happen, dude, you’re going to  _ die _ . 

RICHIE

I don’t care about living anymore… I don’t care… it has to go… 

EDDIE

Don’t!!! 

RICHIE

I’m dying either way it has to go  _ now _ . 

EDDIE

Focus on your breathing!! Or- Wait! No! Questions! We have… questions. Ask the question! 

RICHIE

[sits back up, managing to keep his stomach contents] Ghhg… I- sh*t. You first. I have to go after. 

EDDIE

Okay? Uh. So. You are notorious for… for doing short term projects. Hah… f*ck this. Actually F*ck this. I hate this. Short term projects. When you first joined us, you only s… ugh… signed on for 6 months. And when you had to re-sign on, you did it for another 6 months. …. Bugh… but. But, recently, you signed a 2 year contract. Before doing this video. 

RICHIE

Yeah. Yeah, I actually take all that back. I just gave myself permanent nerve damage in my mouth. I’m not going to be able to talk after this. 

EDDIE

The longer you delay my question the longer it’s going to take for us to end the video and go wash our mouths out. Focus. 

RICHIE

How?? 

EDDIE

I don’t know! Just answer the question!

RICHIE

You didn’t ask anything!

EDDIE

Oh. Sh*t. … Right. I mean, it’s stupid now. I already know the answer. 

RICHIE

Who’s stalling  _ now _ ? 

EDDIE

Fine! What made you change your mind about long-term contracts? Do you see yourself having a good future in the test kitchen? 

RICHIE

… okay, yeah. That’s a dumb question. 

EDDIE

Shut up. 

RICHIE

I thought the point of this was for me to talk and answer the question. 

EDDIE

Then answer it!

RICHIE

It’s you! It’s always been you, man. Why I started here, why I resigned the first contract… I f*cking love you. And I mean, everyone else is great. It’s a good place to work. But if you weren’t around? … I don’t know. I’d probably keep signing the short contracts until it all eventually imploded and I had to move onto the next thing. And I’d probably be okay with that. Par for the course. Nothing gold can stay, ponyboy. But it’s… different. It’s different with you. 

EDDIE

Different, how? 

RICHIE

I really don’t want this to end. Like, ever. I don’t want it to implode, or go away. I don’t even want to  _ die _ . I want to be immortal and just, keep f*cking around with you until a giant meteor explodes the planet, and then I want to float around in space until a new earth forms billions of years in the future and we can be the first two people living on it. 

EDDIE

[still in a considerable amount of pain, but seems touched] We’d do a sh*t job at pre-populating the planet. Non-compatible equipment. 

RICHIE

Eh. It’s fine. All our kids would be inbred if we could. We’ll just adopt some of the first dinosaurs. Change our names to Adam and Steve. 

EDDIE

… I like the sound of that. 

RICHIE

Yeah?

EDDIE

Not- … you know. Changing our names, or the planet exploding and floating endlessly in space waiting for a new big bang. 

RICHIE

Baby, you don’t have to wait if you want a big-

EDDIE

I am trying to have a moment right now, Richard. Let me have this. [Eddie takes a slow breath in, and lets it out again.] … I want  _ this _ . With you. Forever. Even if forever only lasts for the next 5 minutes before we suffocate on whatever the  _ f*ck _ your friend put in this sauce. 

RICHIE

… hey. Can I ask you something?

EDDIE

Is it your final question? 

RICHIE

Yup. 

EDDIE

If this is a stupid question, I’m chucking the bottle at you. 

RICHIE

I’ll let you be the judge of that. But the option’s definitely on the table. 

EDDIE

Seriously, just get to it. There’s two gallons of milk in the fridge and I need them  _ now _ . 

RICHIE

Right so… ok. Am I allowed to ask a two-parter without taking an extra shot? I feel like I’ve proven myself at this point and I don’t need to do that. 

EDDIE

I’ll allow it. 

RICHIE

What’s one thing that you always wanted to do, but never got around to doing? 

EDDIE

Huh? Uh… open my own restaurant? 

RICHIE

Not that one. The other one. 

EDDIE

The other? …. Oh! Yeah. Are you really going to make me say it? It’s stupid. 

RICHIE

It’s not stupid. Just… let the audience know. 

EDDIE

[rubs his forehead with the back of his wrist] I mean I… I was a kid when I came up with the idea. I’ve always been super f*cking impressed by French cuisine. It’s just… cool. It looks really nice, I like the amount of effort they put into the presentation. I wanted to move to France so I could study abroad. But there was never a good time for it, and I ended up not going. I’ve  _ visited _ France a few times, but only for a couple weeks at a time. 

RICHIE

Do you still want to live there? Some day? 

EDDIE

… yeah. But it’s probably not going to be feasible for a long time. I guess I’d like to do that when I retire. 

RICHIE

What if you could do it now? 

EDDIE

Hypothetically? 

RICHIE

… No. Like. Actually. For real. [Richie rubs the back of his neck nervously] … do you want to move to France with me? 

[Mike has edited in music very softly in the background, Vienna by Billy Joel.] 

EDDIE

… what? 

RICHIE

Not like,  _ right _ now. It’d take a year or so to actually set everything up and find a place and all that. And maybe we wouldn’t stay for more than a couple of years. But uh… I talked to Bill about it. And theoretically, we could still work with the test kitchen if we moved abroad. We could take a plane back every month and knock out a bunch of videos in a week. And I don’t speak any French so you’d have to read everything off to me. Or maybe you could teach me some common phrases so I don’t look like a total *ss if I want to go out on my own to pick something up at the store. And then we could move back when we retire? I don’t know about you, but I can definitely afford it. We wouldn’t even have to re-sell the house after we move back to the states. Then we’d have a place to stay if we ever want to fly back for a few weeks. You’re-... woah. Hey. Did you get hit by another heat wave? You’re. … ah… 

EDDIE

[furiously rubbing at his eyes with a new napkin] No, you idiot! I’m crying!!! 

RICHIE

F*ck. That bad of an idea, huh? It’s okay. Forget it. I can ask something else for the-

EDDIE

I  _ want _ to move to France with you!!! I’m…. f*ck you! I’m happy right now!!! 

RICHIE

… oh? Wait. Seriously? 

EDDIE

What the f*ck did you think I was going to say!?! Of course I want to!! 

RICHIE

Honestly? I thought you’d tell me it was a bad idea? 

EDDIE

Why would it be a bad idea?!

RICHIE

I don’t know! It’s… that’s a  _ huge _ thing to ask someone? We haven’t even been dating for that long. If we actually put this part in the final video, people are going to think what we’re doing is nuts. 

EDDIE

People already think that! And I’m way too excited about this to give a f*ck, man. There is  _ so _ much planning we need to do. We need to pick out a region we want to live together, Richie there’s  _ so _ many options. There’s houses by the sea, and city lofts, or farmhouses- Do we want to renovate a house? 

[Eddie starts pacing around again, but with excitement this time instead of trying to fight off the burn] 

EDDIE

Obviously we’ll have to make renovations no matter where we live, anything that comes with the sort of kitchen I need to work in is going to be out of our price range. How do you feel about Southern France? Maybe something a bit closer to Spain? That way, we can drive over on the weekends. They have amazing cod dishes in Bilbao. Unless you want to be closer to Barcelona? I’ll come up with a list for you to pick from. Anywhere you want! As long as it’s not Paris. You  _ know  _ how I feel about Paris. 

RICHIE

[gazing fondly at Eddie, tearing up a bit] I wouldn’t dream of it, Eds. 

EDDIE

… Oh god, man. Don’t do that, I’m going to start crying again too. 

RICHIE

What am I  _ supposed  _ to do? Glower?? I feel like the luckiest guy on earth right now and I’m getting a bit emotional about it. Sue me. 

EDDIE

Can I kiss you? Right now? 

RICHIE 

Hell ye- oh. Uh. [Richie turns to the camera, making a slicing motion with his hand] Mike you can just leave the rest of this out of the video. Eddie and I survived the hot wings challenge, and a bunch of other sh*t happened. This is Richie Tozier, signing o-

[Richie is still sitting down, so Eddie starts climbing into his lap to straddle it] 

RICHIE

_ Hello _ , Sailor-

[Screen cuts to black. White text appears on screen, note from the editor saying “We’ll give them some privacy. Congratulations to Richie and Eddie.”, followed by a tiny cartoon animation of a party popper going off.] 

[One extra epilogue scene plays after the video is done. 

The camera shows Eddie and Richie, presumably after they stopped kissing. Eddie is still sitting in Richie’s lap, arms wrapped around Richie’s shoulders. He has his face hidden in Richie’s neck, and he’s shaking with laughter. Richie has his arms wrapped around Eddie, and has tilted his head back so he’s looking up at the ceiling. He’s smiling because Eddie is laughing, but he’s clearly in a world full of spice-pain yet again. 

Richie’s microphone is able to pick up some of the sound and dialogue, but it’s mostly muffled due to its close proximity to one of Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie’s microphone has become completely unplugged at some point in the unaired segment.] 

EDDIE

It’s so... worse now… oh my god. 

RICHIE

We’ve made some bad choices before.  _ That _ . That was the worst. I don’t think I can feel the bottom half of my face anymore. 

EDDIE

[leans back just enough to look at Richie’s face, grinning widely as he reaches up and pinches both of his cheeks] Oh you’re fine, you big baby. 

RICHIE

Don’t  _ make  _ me kiss you again. 

EDDIE

Don’t threaten me with a good time. 

[Apparently having immediately forgotten what a terrible idea the first kiss was, Richie reaches up and starts pulling Eddie in to kiss him again. Video cuts to black.]

\- - - - - - - - 

“... So. I believe you gentlemen know why I have called you into my office today.” 

It was about a half week after filming the episode, so Richie and Eddie knew exactly why Mike wanted to speak with them. 

Mike’s office wasn’t like Bill’s, or other typical office spaces. It was cluttered, even after he switched into a bigger office space after the test kitchen took over the first floor of the building. Finding space to sit down in the room was a difficult task. Mike wasn’t a big ‘meetings’ guy, so his office didn’t have designated chairs for visitors. Instead, it had a small assembly of items that could be used as a seat, which were more often than not stacked with piles of folders or camera equipment. 

Eddie moved aside one of said stacks to claim a wooden stool over by the side of the room, and Richie settled for leaning back against one of the rare portions of wall that didn’t have anything tacked up to it. 

After receiving an awkward nod of approval from both of his guests, Mike continued. 

“First off, congratulations. Seriously. I’m really happy for both of you, and I know everyone else will be when you tell them.” 

“Thanks, man. That means a lot,” said Eddie, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

“This isn’t illegal, right? No laws against fraternization in the workplace?” asked Richie, doing his best to sound as casual as possible about the whole affair. 

“Already looked into it for Bev and Ben. You’re in the clear,” said Mike with a shake of his head. “... but we do need to talk about how you want me to edit this video.” 

“Fuck. Was it that bad?” asked Eddie, looking increasingly more concerned by the second. “I honestly didn’t think it was going to go in that direction. Was that too weird?” 

“Hey, don’t worry. It’s fine. The video’s good, there’s content there. But there’s also a _ lot  _ of personal information. I need to know how much of this you’d be comfortable sharing online,” Mike explained. 

Eddie paused, trying to recollect how much he had shared during filming. 

“... I’d have to watch the tape again. I honestly can’t even remember half of what I said,” Eddie said. He stopped for another moment, before turning to Richie to clarify something for him. “I  _ meant _ all of it. Obviously. But it was hard to concentrate after the 5th wing, I could have said anything.” 

“Yeah, meanwhile everything I said got burned into my brain like the scarlet letter. Don’t get me wrong. Loved filming that. But if I ever watch that tape over again and have to see myself saying those things, I will shrivel up and die from shame,” said Richie. 

“I can omit any information you want from the final video. Even if we only keep the reactions from the hot sauces and cut the questions out of it, we’re looking at a solid 8 minutes of content,” Mike offered. 

The room was silent, everyone waiting for Richie’s reaction. He thought about it for a few moments, before groaning and rubbing his face with one hand. 

“No… I can’t pussy out of this now. There’s never going to be a ‘better time’ to come out. I already decided I wanted to, might as well just do it in the stupidest way possible,” said Richie. 

“Unless…” Mike led in with, leaving the sentence hanging dramatically. 

“... Unless?” asked Eddie. 

“Unless what,” Richie added. 

“What if I told you that I have a plan to help you come out, in a way that has no chance of backfiring on you,” said Mike. 

“You really think you can do that?” Eddie asked, hanging on Mike’s every word. 

“I’m positive. I ran the idea by Bill- Yes I have talked to Bill about this and no he has not seen the video. I ran it by Bill, and he thinks it could work,” Mike explained. 

“Oh that little shit,” Richie said suddenly. 

“What?” asked Eddie. 

“This morning when he passed me in the hall he said ‘You and Eddie must have been up late watching the big game last night, right? Go Pats!’. I’ve been so confused all day, he  _ knows _ I don’t watch football. Cheeky bastard,” Richie recalled. 

Mike wanted to say ‘ _ Oh, don’t worry. We’ve known for a very long time _ ’, but checked himself and decided that it wasn’t quite the right time to say that yet. 

So instead Mike laughed quietly to himself, and shook his head slightly. 

“He’s happy for you too. And both of us want this to work out for you.” 

“So. What’s the plan? We buy a rainbow billboard and advertise it across the country to promote the video?” asked Richie sarcastically. 

“Actually? You’re not far off. The first step is you and Eddie coming out on social media. That’ll give you the time to think about it. You can phrase it however you want to, directly to the public. This will also give us time to gauge the audience’s reaction to the news. If it’s mostly positive, which I’m sure it will be, you might feel better about publishing the video,” Mike said. 

“And if everyone hates it?” asked Richie. 

Mike shrugged. “Then we don’t post anything. Nobody gets the backstory or explanation besides the members of the test kitchen.” 

“That seems reasonable…” Eddie mused. 

“But if you get the support, I think we should use this video. Not… all of it. Of course. There’s over two hours of footage in this interview, I’m going to have to take out a lot of it. I’ll start with anything that either of you tell me you want removed, and then I’ll take out anything that seems too personal for a wide audience. Edit lines around so the viewers get the point of what you’re talking about, without the private details,” Mike explained. 

From the side of the room, Richie pulled his phone out of his pocket. He continued listening as he glanced down at the screen, starting to type something out. 

“But there are a lot of beautiful parts in that video. There’s things I think people need to hear someone say. It’s going to shake things up if we publish this, but in a good way. But only if you’re both on board with that,” said Mike. 

“I’m on board,” Eddie replied immediately. “And we’ll still get to watch it before you release anything, right? And make last minute changes if we want?” 

“Of course,” said Mike with an affirmative nod. “We’ll delay the release if we have to, until you’re satisfied with the final product. Richie?” 

Richie kept his eyes on his phone screen, but raised it slightly so he wasn’t talking down at the floor. 

“How’s this sound? ‘Another score for the conspiracy theorists. You were right, I’m gay and I’m dating my co-star’. Hashtag the truth is out there, hashtag worst coming out post ever, hashtag everyone can stop arguing about this now, hashtag this is not a joke I am gay,” Richie read off. 

Eddie made a face. 

“That sounds like you put no effort into it at all,” he said. 

“Good. Then it’s perfect,” Richie replied, tapping one more button before shutting his phone off. 

“... Did you just tweet that now?” Eddie asked. 

“Yup,” Richie said, loudly popping the p on the end of that affirmation before lightly tossing his phone over to Eddie. “Won’t be needing that for the rest of the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see a man about a horse that’s galloping towards a meltdown. See ya on the other side, Hanlon.” 

Richie gave them both a casual wave, before exiting the office and quickly walking off in the direction of the closest bathroom. 

Eddie caught the phone and carefully put it in one of his pockets. 

“... I should go help him with that,” he said, standing up from the stool and turning to Mike. “Hey… thanks. I’m sure Richie will tell you later, but… we both really appreciate it. I owe you for this.” 

Mike smiled, and shook his head. 

“We’re friends, you don’t owe me anything. I’m glad you trusted me enough to share all of this with me,” he said. 

Mike was about to urge Eddie to go off after Richie, before an idea popped into his head. 

“Oh. Actually, would you mind if I made two versions of the final video? The one for public viewing will be everything we just discussed, of course. But I’d love to make a version for just our friends to watch,” Mike asked. 

“... sure? I don’t know what any of them will get out of it,” Eddie replied, slightly confused. 

“Oh, trust me. They’ll want to see the whole thing.”

“Then show them the whole thing, don’t make extra work for yourself.” 

“Ah. So you don’t mind Bev seeing the part where you said… what was it?” Mike asked, pulling aside a notepad on his desk so he could read out a line he had written down. “ _ You would not believe the amount of times I have come this close to sucking your dick at work. This close. Can you see any space between my fingers right now? That close. Mike, cut this part out, One of these days I am going to _ -” 

“Okay!!” Eddie shouted, fighting back against the heat crawling up the back of his neck. “Point taken. One video for online, one for the losers. And I still want to see both before you show anyone.” 

Mike sent a salute at Eddie, picking up a pen and writing a check mark next to the phrase he had read from. 

“I’ll email you the file for the full video right now. Just let me know when you and Richie come up with that list. I’ll have plenty of work to do in the meantime,” said Mike. 

“Thanks,” Eddie said, with sincerity again. 

Eddie moved to the door of the office, about to follow after Richie to check in on him. 

He made it a few steps out into the hallway, before he rounded the corner and poked his head back inside, pointing at Mike. 

“And _ no one _ needs to know about the carrot story. No one.” 

“I’ve already deleted that segment of the file. It will never see the light of day,” Mike assured him, trying to suppress a smirk. 

“You take that information to your grave, or I will put you in an early one.” 

“Duly noted.”

\- - - - - - 

**HOT WINGS CHALLENGE** . Uploaded by the Loser Test Kitchen. 

20 million views. 475k thumbs up. 10k thumbs down. 55,000 comments. 

Top comment:

Posted by SnoopDoggTV. 

“Best shout-out ever. Congratz.”

15k thumbs up.

\- - - - - - - 

_ Two and a half years after the release of the hot wings challenge video.  _

_ Bordeaux, France. 2019.  _

_ But you know that when the truth is told _

_ That you can get what you want or you get old _

_ You're gonna kick off before you even _

_ Get halfway through _

_ When will you realize, Vienna waits for you _

Richie and Eddie’s first property purchase together was small, but absolutely perfect for them. 

Months of planning and research had gone into the decision. 

They both agreed they didn’t want to live anywhere in or near Paris. It was absolutely over-hyped, noisy, and touristy. They planned to make trips into the city any time they felt like it, but would enjoy the experience of leaving it at the end of the day. 

The idea of Saint Émilion came up as well. Eddie liked it because it was a beautiful location, and its reputation for its impeccable wine. Richie liked it because the town of Saint Émilion used to be a castle, and the abundance of old castles in the general area. In the end they agreed that it would be a better retirement property than a temporary home. Any house outside of the town was almost guaranteed to be an old farmhouse, and would require years of renovations to make a proper home out of. 

Not to mention, Richie wasn’t as well-versed in the culture as Eddie was. Richie needed to be closer to a city, so he could walk outside and at least pretend he was interacting with society before he was ready to live in true isolation in the French countryside. 

So they settled on a small property in Gradignan. Close enough that they could drive into Bordeaux if either of them had business there or missed the hustle and bustle of big cities, but quiet enough to get a much more peaceful night's sleep than they ever had in LA, New York, or Boston. 

It took some time for both of them to adjust into their new lives together. 

Eddie spent much of his early days feeling like a small fish in a much larger pond than he was used to. He had spent most of his life knowing more about French culture than most of his colleagues, and had suddenly become painfully aware of how obvious of a foreigner he was. Much to his disdain, he had his pronunciation and accent corrected on more than one occasion. 

Richie didn’t fare much better at first. The price of freedom from American paparazzi was, apparently, the horrendous fear of not being seen. He suddenly found that he could go just about anywhere, and do just about anything, without being noticed by anyone around him. 

They both considered moving back to the states and re-selling the property on more than one occasion. But any time the idea came up, they both agreed to keep trying for just one more month. Which turned into another. And another. Until the topic of moving back before their two-year goal stopped coming up completely. 

Their home in Gradnigan was a beautiful property. Small, but incredy homey. Eddie had completely torn out the kitchen, rebuilding it to his exact needs and desires. It had granite countertops, stainless steel sinks, and a collection of hand-made artisanal knives that Ben and Bev had given them as a housewarming gift. Most of their pots and pans hung from a rack dangling down from the ceiling, since Richie found it easier to keep track of kitchen utensils when they weren’t tucked away into cabinets. 

The kitchen was immaculate, but Eddie still found that his favorite space in the home was their backyard. It was just big enough to provide them a bit of privacy, closed off by a wooden fence. Enough room to put a small vegetable garden in the back, and filled with potted and hanging plants. 

They were surrounded by life. By things that grew as they did. 

So they got into a nightly routine together. Any time Eddie came back from his trips into the city, to meet with other chefs and study with them, the two of them had dinner and then immediately went to sit on their back porch. They’d bring a bottle of wine with them, sit down in the two wooden chairs they had set up in the back, and wind down together as Eddie recounted everything new he had learned, and Richie told him about interesting sights he had seen when he went exploring in the city. 

Only today, Richie hadn’t gone into the city at all. He had apparently decided to stay home for the day, playing video games in their living room. 

“Yeah, well. At this point I sort of feel like I’ve seen everything,” Richie said, when Eddie asked about why Richie hadn’t gotten out of the house. “Been to all the statues, seen the cathedrals. There might be a new cafe opening up downtown, but it won’t be up for at least a week.” 

“You’re not getting bored, are you?” asked Eddie, with slight concern. He regularly worried about how Richie was holding up. Eddie had plenty to do, could talk to whoever he wanted, but Richie was far more limited than he was. He knew that Richie relied on facetiming with their friends back in America far more than he did. 

“Bored? With you, never,” said Richie nonchalantly, taking a sip of his wine. 

“I know, but… you need more than _ just  _ me to feel fulfilled. I think you need something to focus on that’s just for you,” said Eddie. 

“Are you saying I need to get a hobby? I have a hobby. I’m saving Hyrule right now.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“I mean something substantial… have you considered doing stand up shows?” 

Richie raised an eyebrow, looking away from their garden so he could give Eddie the full effect of his incredulous look. 

“Last week some lady shushed me because I was talking to someone on my phone in public. You really think people would pay to see me rant at them in English here?” he asked. 

“There are people who speak english here, moron,” Eddie answered, sipping his drink. “And you don’t have to only do shows in France. Europe’s a lot smaller than you think, touring around the continent would pretty much be the same as touring around America, travel wise. There’s a few cities I think you’d do pretty well in.” 

“... Amsterdam?” asked Richie, starting to look a bit excited about the prospect. 

“Of course,” said Eddie, smiling fondly. 

“... I’ll give my manager a call, see if there’s anything she can set up,” said Richie. He looked back off to the side again, head clearly starting to buzz with a hundred new ideas. 

But then he stopped, looking back to Eddie with a small hint of guilt on his face. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I had to fuck off for a week to do shows without you?” 

Eddie waved a hand casually in the air. 

“Of course not. Obviously I’d miss you, but you’d have a hundred stories to tell me when you got back. Once in a while I can ask for time off from my studies so I can travel with you,” said Eddie. Then he reached out to the side, and took one of Riche’s hands in his own. “... as long as I know you’re coming back home to me, that’s all I need.” 

And Richie smiled, lifting Eddie’s hand to kiss his fingers. 

“Always. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Eds.” 

Eddie blushed lightly, amazed that Richie could still make his heart flutter like that even after everything they had been through together. 

“Always?” 

“Until I’m so old I can’t even get on a plane anymore. You’ll have to push me around in a wheelchair and change my colostomy bag on the daily,” said Richie, with a wink. 

Eddie laughed, squeezing tightly onto Richie’s hand. 

“Sounds like a good plan,” he said. 

That’s exactly what Eddie wanted. Listening to Richie’s stupid jokes until the end of time. Yelling at each other every day, stumbling over one another, bickering and laughing and making love loudly to make up for all the lost time they spent not knowing each other. 

He shifted himself in his seat, just so he could feel the sensation of the small empty velvet box in his pocket without touching it. He looked over at Richie’s wine glass, trying to spot the faint glimmer of a golden band that laid hidden at the bottom of it. 

Eddie hoped Richie felt the same. Forever. 

Eddie raised his glass to Richie’s, to offer a toast. 

“... To becoming senile old fucks together?” 

Richie grinned, clinking his glass against Eddie’s. 

“To becoming the most senile and oldest of fuckers. Together,” Richie agreed. 

And Eddie in horror watched as Richie tilted his head back, and downed the rest of his wine glass in one go. 

Richie made a face when he sat back upright, looking at the empty bottom of his glass. 

“Did you put something in my drink, Eds? That went down pretty hard.” 

“... oh god.” 

_THE END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god that's everything that's the whole BA test kitchen AU fic it's...... done.... oh my god.... hhhhgg... 
> 
> SO. THANK YOU ALL. SO MUCH. FOR READING THIS. This seriously started out as a VERY silly idea that was supposed to be a quick 6 chapters and I am just. FLOORED by the positive response and how much people liked it ;A; THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!! 
> 
> My next plan is to go back and edit through some of this, fix some spelling errors I missed and edit the video portions so they are all uniform and the same editing wise, but I do hope to write more for Reddie in the future! Probably not a fic as long as this again, maybe just some one shots so I can do other projects as I write without keeping people waiting. But I LOVE REDDIE AND I LOVE EVERYONE AT THIS BAR!!!!! 
> 
> Seriously one more time THANKS FOR READING! I really hope you are happy with the ending I cooked up. ITS WHAT THEY DESERVE!!!!! GOOD FOR THEM!!!!!


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